The Most Happy
by Queen Nan Boleyn
Summary: September 7th, 1533. Everything is perfect. (Or, another "Anne has a son" AU.)
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is my first Tudors story. I've been in this fandom for a long time, and I've mainly observed until now. I've written this in response to the Tiny Tudors challenge on the forum, and it will be a multi-chaptered AU.

I'm sorry if it seems out of character, but feel free to send criticisms. I love it!

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

 _June 15th, 1533_

There had been multiple kicks.

Henry the Eighth, King of England and Lord of Ireland, was stunned into silence as the midwife examining his wife confirmed that there had been multiple kicks in the womb, ensuring him that they were to have more than one child, come autumn.

"Are you absolutely sure?" He questioned the midwife, a woman by the name of Mistress Stafford, as she pressed and prodded against the belly of Anne Boleyn.

"As certain as one can be, Majesty," Mistress Stafford confirmed, moving her hands from the Queen's stomach and giving him a gentle smile. "Come September, Your Majesties will have three Princes and Princesses in the royal nursery."

"Triplets?" Anne practically whispered the word, amazed at what she was hearing. She had expected twins, as her belly had grown far larger than what was usual for a woman as far along as she, but she had not anticipated that she was carrying _triplets_. And on her first pregnancy, too!

"Three sons," Henry was as amazed as Anne, speaking the words as if he was in a daze. The prospect of Anne having triplets on her first pregnancy was a blessing, and surely proof that their marriage had been blessed by God. God willing, Anne would deliver three healthy sons, but he would also be satisifed with a daughter– as long as he got an heir and a spare.

No. He would not refer to his second son as a spare. He knew all too well what it felt like to be the second son, seen as inferior to the eldest just by virture of the order of their birth. Despite being a healthier and smarter child than he, Arthur was still hailed as the glorious prince who would carry on the Tudor legacy, while he had to settle for a career in the Church. It had caused him to resent his brother, and although he knew it to be a sin, made him relieved when he had died and paved the way for Henry to be the doted upon Prince of Wales. His second son would never know the despair that Henry felt as Arthur's spare; his little Duke of York would be an equal to their oldest son, so that he would never have cause to resent him. Perhaps, once their sons were grown, he would be his brother's most trusted advisor.

"We will have to have more cribs ordered," Henry said finally, reminding himself to have Cromwell order two more cribs for the royal nursery.

Anne smiled at the thought of their nursery being full with children so soon into their marriage, rubbing her stomach some as she looked up at Henry with hope in her eyes. With God's help, she would be able to give him a healthy son, or two healthy sons in this one pregnancy, as she knew the odds of her having three sons were bordering on impossible. She didn't want to think about what would happen if all of the children were daughters, or, even worse, one or all of the children were stillborn. No, she wouldn't think of it. She was so close to having everything that she could taste the sweetness of her victory already– Anne, the Queen of England who had fulfilled her promise to her husband and the world by birthing the Golden Children of England, ensuring that she would never lose her place or slip from her husband's affections as so-called Queen Catherine had.

God willing, her children would bring England into a golden age.

* * *

 _September 7th, 1533_

Anne's labor had begun several hours ago, but there was still so sign of it coming to an end soon.

Henry paced around the small room back and forth, with his father-and-brother-in-law, closest friend, and his closest advisor all staring at him with concerned looks on their faces, unsure how to ease the tension in the room. "Why is it taking so long?" He demanded, his voice marred with worry at the fact that his wife's labor was proving to be long and difficult. He directed his attention to Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, the concerned glare on his face an indicator for the other man to say something.

"I'm sure that we'll hear something soon, Your Majesty," He reassured him, forcing himself to look concerned for Anne's safe, earning a look of contempt from both Thomas and George Boleyn. Truth be told, he didn't really care how long Anne Boleyn's labor lasted, as he knew that whatever outcome it was wouldn't be a good one. _Better the bitch should die in childbirth before she can do anymore damage,_ He thought, his mind thinking back to the day of her coronation when someone attempted to assassinate her. If only the gunman had not missed!

He had never seen Henry look this worried before, not even when Queen Catherine was in childbirth; something that filled him with dread and contempt. Thank God that his new wife, Catherine Brooke, had helped him to see how much damage that the woman was doing, causing him to shift his allegiance from the Boleyn faction of the court to... whatever faction supported Queen Catherine, he supposed.

He did not even want to think of what would happen if Anne Boleyn birthed a healthy son or two, or even worse, three healthy sons. He would rather the woman give Henry daughters, or even better, stillborns. _If they're even Henry's children to begin with,_ He told himself, thinking of the rumors that Anne had once been the lover of Thomas Wyatt, and even Henry Percy. He had tried to inform Henry of the rumors himself, blinded with the belief that his friend would listen to him over a girl that he, in his opinion, barely knew, but he had severely underestimated Henry's love for her, causing his friend to defend her tenfold. What did Henry see in her? Catherine of Aragon was a true Queen, a pious woman worthy of every respect, while Anne Boleyn was nothing more than an ill-tempered upstart, blinded by her own ambition for the throne that she did not care who she hurt.

It was wrong, and he would forever regret the part that he played in her rise to prominence.

"Her Majesty is a strong woman," Thomas Cromwell spoke up, attempting to ease the King's mind away from Anne's long labor and towards her good qualities. "She has faced tougher challenges before, and overcome them, even if she struggled whilst doing it." In particular, he was thinking of the Great Matter, which had taken years to resolve thanks to the corruption of the Catholic Church, as well as when the Queen caught the sweating sickness and survived. According to George Boleyn, the doctor had thought there was no hope, and last rites had been administered to her before she miraculously woke up and recovered in time. He had been relieved when he heard the news of Anne's survival, as it was well known to him that she was a reformer and she would be the one to be able to sway the King's mind away from popery and towards a new church, one free of the superstition and idolatry that binded people to the evil of the church in Rome.

Henry could not deny that that was true. Anne was a strong woman, perhaps the strongest woman that he knew. They had braved so much together; Catherine of Aragon, sweating sickness, the Holy Roman Emperor, and the Pope, among others. Someone had even tried to assassinate one of them on the day of her coronation! If he and Anne could brave those obstacles together, there was no telling what she could do on her own. But he could not help but be worried. What if one of their sons was positioned wrong? What if they were stillborn? What if Anne developed childbed fever?

That was his worst fear. His mother had died from childbed fever, and he couldn't handle the thought of his Anne sharing the same fate as she. He would give anything to save Anne if it had come to that, but, God willing, it wouldn't have to.

"Would you like me to send a messenger to the Queen's apartments, Your Majesty?" Thomas Boleyn spoke up, seizing the opportunity he saw while carefully masking his concern. While he was worried about the progress of Anne's labor, as natural for a father when his daughter was giving birth for the first time, he would be the first to admit that he was more concerned for his grandchildren than he was about Anne. It was different with Mary's difficult labor, as she had not birthed royal children, but worh Anne, it was crucial that his grandchildren were born alive and healthy, even if it cost Anne her life.

If Anne succeeded in giving the King a son, it would cement the Boleyn family and the Howard family in his good graces forever, ensuring that he would never cast them aside or promote the interests or political ambitions of those that would work against them, not when there was a chance that he might die before the little Prince of Wales reached his majority. Even better, he would likely be granted a dukedom, something that he could pass onto George, and George could pass onto his own son.. whenever George decided to get married. Maybe, after Anne gave the King his son, he would talk to him about arranging a marriage between George and a daughter of a nobleman, or perhaps a wealthy heiress whose father he could elevate to a peerage, so that George could absorb those lands and titles into the family name after marriage. Perhaps he could arrange for an advantageous second marriage for Mary as well, although that would be much more difficult, given the fact that she had living children from her first husband, as well as the reputation that his eldest child had managed to make for herself.

"I can go, Majesty," George Boleyn offered, immediately readying himself to depart from the room. While he knew that a great many things depended on whether or not Anne would deliver a healthy son today, he did not care for any of it in the moment, his concern for his sister written all over his face. Anne had been his closest companion since childhood, and although they had somewhat drifted apart since they became pawns in their father and uncle's political games, he continued to hold her in high esteem, and he would give anything to make sure that she had a safe and painless delivery. He would never say it aloud, but he would rather his nieces or nephews be stillborn if it meant that he wouldn't lose his sister in childbirth.

He missed her. It pained him to know that they had drifted apart; although they still saw and spoke to each other everyday, their relationship just wasn't the same anymore, and that was something that he would never, _ever_ forgive his father for. After the birth, he would make an effort to reconcile with Anne, to sit down and talk with her and get to see how his dear younger sister had truly evolved since the first rift in their relationship began. It was the least he could do for her, after everything.

Henry could sense that George Boleyn was, perhaps, the only person in the room that was just as concerned for Anne as he was, or maybe even more concerned than he was. Anne might be his wife, but she was George's younger sister, and from what Anne had told him, they had always been close to each other when they were children, something that had begun to change after Anne's return to England and introduction to court. They may had drifted apart, but George had known Anne their entire lives and he was sure that nothing and no one would be able to stop George from getting to his sister to make sure that she was alive. If one thing was certain, it was that George Boleyn was a very chivalrous man, and Henry admired that in his brother-in-law. Perhaps when this was over, Henry would grant George an earldom or a dukedom in his own right, so that he would not have to inherit his titles from his father.

He nodded in response to George's offer to check on Anne, watching as his brother-in-law ran from the room as fast as he could with a hardened expression, as he did not want his face to betray his feelings. As a king, he could not show any weakness whatsoever– no matter who it was for.

 _Please, God, watch over my wife._ He prayed inwardly, his heart pounding in his chest as if it was going to stop altogether. _Please._

* * *

"I can see the head!" Mistress Stafford shouted, much to the relief of Anne and the women attending her, as they had not only begun to worry about the progress of their mistress's labor as much as the Queen herself was, but they had also begun to tire of hearing her almost screams of pain. Mistress Stafford, however, was an experienced midwife, and she was so used to the cries coming from a woman in labor that Queen Anne's hollering and wailing did not phase her in the slightest. It seemed that the only other woman in the room that was not at least somewhat irritated by the Queen's screams was the Lady Mary Carey, formerly known as Mary Boleyn, the Queen's own sister!

Mary dabbed a cloth against Anne's head, whispering kind words of encouragement into her sister's ear that she hoped would make her feel better. She could relate to Anne's plight, as she, too, knew what a long and difficult labor felt like, and while the kind words might have been meaningless to anybody else, they had done wonders for her during her own labor. It pained her to see how much pain her youngest sibling was in, and although she knew that there was nothing that she could do about it, she did wish that there was something that could be done to ease her sister's suffering.

"You're so brave," Mary whispered to Anne, which was followed by a loud shriek from the Queen, who also squeezed Nan Saville's hand as tightly as she could. Mistress Stafford positioned herself to be able to grab the baby, and looked up towards Queen Anne and her sister.

"Alright, Majesty, I need you to give us one big push," She instructed firmly, leaving no room for Anne to cry or say that she could not do it.

Anne looked up at the ceiling, as if she were looking to God Himself, praying for her first child to make a safe delivery. She let out another loud wail as she squeezed the hands of her sister and Nan Saville, falling back onto the pillow as the loud cries of a child leaving her womb filled the room. She dissolved into tears almost instantly, her vision getting clouded and her breath heaving as she looked up to Mary with a concerned and nervous look on her face.

"What is it?" She demanded, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Mary wiped the hairs away from her sweating face and dabbed her forehead with the cloth again, a wide grin spreading across her face as she delivered the news. "Your Majesty had given birth to a healthy son."

"A son..." Anne had not even had the time to process what her sister had said before another wave of pain passed through her body, causing her to lift her head up and wail in pain. Mistress Stafford, who had not moved from her position after passing the first child to an assistant, held Anne's leg steadily with one of her hands as the Queen continued to move in pain.

"Now that the first child has been born, things will go much smoother, Majesty," She assured the Queen, who had begun to clutch Nan Saville and Mary Carey's hand with a Herculean grip. "Now, I need you to give me another big push."

Anne let out the loudest cry of the day as George Boleyn entered the room, his heart racing and himself nearly out of breath from running so fast. "What's happened? How is the Queen?" He questioned as soon as he entered, his voice quickly being overshadowed by another baby's cry.

"Her Majesty has given birth to a healthy son and a healthy daughter, it seems," Mary explained, her face beaming with pride as the second child was handed off to a lady-in-waiting to be cleaned and wrapped in cloth.

"A son?" George could scarcely believe his ears. His little sister, his sweet Annie, had given birth to a Prince of Wales. His thoughts were cut short when Anne left out another sob of pain, although he did make out her whisper of his name. He instantly rushed over to the bedside and knelt besides Mary, allowing Anne to clutch his hand as tightly as she needed to in order to deliver the last baby. He would bring the news to His Majesty after his sister was safely delivered.

Anne felt so weak, as if all of the life was being drained out of her with each new delivery, but she was determined to deliver the last child. Tightening her grip on the hands of George and Nan, she pushed as hard as she could, leaving out a loud gasp as the child left her womb and began to wail.

"Your Majesty has given us another little princess," Mistress Stafford confirmed, handing the third child off to be cleaned and standing up.

"Two daughters?" Anne felt disappointed in herself for feeling disappointed, as even though she had given the King his long desired son, she had given him two daughters and a son instead of two sons and a daughter. No, she had done her duty to her husband and to England; her daughters were hers, and she would love them just as much as she would love her son. "My sweet daughters, and my son," She whispered, tears of relief falling down her face.

"Your Majesty has done well," Mary smiled, dabbing the wet cloth against her sister's forehead again to cool her down.

"Too well," George echoed, looking down at his reddened hand with astonishment at how firm Anne's grip was. "At least it's over," He stated, beginning to stand up just as Anne felt another pain rush through her. He watched as Anne let out a loud scream, grabbing his hand again and pulling him back down to her side.

"Mistress Stafford!" Mary called out helplessly, her eyes widening in horror as the midwife ran back to her charge with such a speed that it had startled her. "What is it? What's going on?" She questioned as Mistress Stafford examined the Queen's stomach and womb, a shiver going down her spine as she imagined the worst.

"There is another baby still in the womb," Mistress Stafford declared, pushing down on Anne's stomach once more with a look of concern on her face. "If Her Majesty can give one large push, we shall be able to deliver the child quickly." She determined, feeling somewhat guilty that her calculation had been off. She got herself back into position to be able to grab the child, with a few of the Queen's attendants rushing to their mistress's side.

"George, you go to His Majesty and tell him the news," Mary instructed him, returning to her siblings's side and preparing to take Anne's hand away from George. "I will stay with the Queen."

"I can't do it," Anne cried out, her hand clutching George's even tighter as she sobbed. She was so tired, and in so much pain, and it hurt the other two Boleyn siblings to see their sister like this. Anne had always been fierce and formidable, and seeing her resolve weaken made them uncomfortable, to say the least. George looked to Mary, and Mary looked to George, both with the same understanding look– neither of them was going to leave their sister's side.

"You only have to push one more time, Your Majesty," Mary encouraged her, putting her hand atop Anne's and George's while brushing the hair away from her sister's sweaty face. "Once more, and then it will be over."

Anne looked towards her two siblings, seeing the encouraging looks on their faces and practically choking on her own sobs. She nodded her head and squeezed the hands of her siblings and closest confidante, letting out an ear piercing scream as the fourth baby was safely delivered.

Mistress Stafford sighed in relief as she held the baby in her arms, then passing it into the arms of the closest lady to her. She smiled to herself, then stood up and looked down at the sobbing Queen being comforted by her two siblings. "Your Majesty has delivered of another healthy son."

* * *

"Where is he?" Henry's pacing had only quickened since George left nearly an hour ago, his worries only increasing with each passing minute. He knew that it did not take long to reach Anne's apartments, and he knew that it would take an even shorter amount of time to get an update and return with the news. Had George gotten sidetracked? Had something happened to Anne?

"Perhaps Lord Rochford was sidetracked on his way to the Queen's apartments, Majesty," Suffolk spoke up, seizing the opportunity to attempt to discredit the Boleyn son in the King's eyes. "He is, after all, a notorious womanizer."

Thomas Boleyn let out a low growl at Suffolk's suggestion. "Or, perhaps he is still in the Queen's apartment tending to his beloved sister, my Lord of Suffolk," He suggested, watching as the King's eyes softened after the words left his mouth, something that he considered to be a victory. "It is well-known at court that Lord Rochford holds the Queen, his sister, in a high regard, so perhaps he sought to stay by her side in her hour of need, something that only the most chivalrous of men do."

Boleyn's words caused Henry to snap his head up in realization. Of course; his father-in-law had the answer with him all along! He needed to go to her, his sweet Anne, and be with her as she delivered their sons. They had faced all of their greatest trials together, so it was only fair that they faced this one together as well. Anne would deliver their sons with him by his side, and there was nothing that anybody could say or do to stop him.

"Perhaps you are right, Lord Wiltshire," Henry mused, turning to Cromwell. "I am going to see my Queen." He declared, to the shock of all of the other men in the room.

"Your Majesty-" Suffolk began, but it was too late, as the King had already rushed out of the room, the Earl of Wiltshire following close behind.

Henry rushed through the halls as fast as he could, ignoring the announcements being made as he entered and the curtseys and conversations that his courtiers started behind him. He gradually made his way to the Queen's apartments, storming into the rooms with such a ferocity that it startled all of those present.

He had expected to see a commotion around his wife, but instead, she was laying in the bed peacefully, holding a small bundle close to her heart and cooing at it. Anne looked up at Henry, and although her face was still stained with tears from the difficulty of birth, she looked just as he did the last time he had saw her; every care had been done for his wife in the aftermath of their children's birth, and he was grateful for it.

"Henry," She whispered, her voice sounding as if she were in some far-off dream. "Come and meet your sons."

"Sons.." Henry felt as if his knees would collapse on him as she spoke, eyeing the bundle in her arms. Had Anne really done it? Had she really given him the sons that he had waited so long for? The proud looks on the faces of Mary Carey and George Boleyn, who were also holding a child each, seemed to say it all. "Three of them.."

"Actually, Your Majesty," Mistress Stafford interrupted, coming from behind the monarch holding another child. "Her Majesty had quadruplets, two sons and two daughters– all of them healthy. And, my apologies for the miscalculation," She added hastily, not willing to offend her King by refusing two acknowledge her mistake. She held the small bundle of blanket containing a child out to him, which he gladly accepted.

"Four of them?" Henry was astounded, the words being spoken at the same time that his father-in-law spoke from behind him. He looked down at the bundle in his arms, a gentle smile crossing his face as the child's lips pursed together. "Is this the oldest son?" He asked, unsure as to which child was which.

Anne shook her head and smiled. "No, Henry; that's our oldest daughter." She explained, brushing her fingers against the face of their eldest son.

"The oldest prince is with the Queen, Lord Rochford is holding the little Duke of York, and the Lady Mary Carey is holding the youngest daughter." Nan Saville explained, her expression looking just as proud as that of the Boleyns. "Mistress Stafford had to examine the elder daughter for a moment, as she stopped crying relatively quickly compared to the other children and feared that something may have been wrong. Luckily, everything was fine, and it looks as though Her Highness will enjoy a long and prosperous life, God willing."

"Thank you, Nan," Anne smiled at her closest friend, nodding her head to dismiss her from the room so that she could have a private moment with her family.

Henry walked across the room to his wife's bedside, taking the bundle with the Duke of York from George and joining his wife on the now-clean bed. "You did so well, sweetheart," He whispered, kissing her on the forehead and looking down at three of their four children. Mary handed the youngest daughter to them, letting out a slight giggle at the sight of her sister and the King trying to balance the four babies between each other as her and George left the rooms. "Which one was delivered first?"

"Our son, and then our two daughters," Anne kissed her husband's cheek and looked down to the children. "The Duke of York was the surprise," She admitted, Henry chuckling slightly.

"Our mischevious son," He declared, kissing the little Duke of York on the head.

"Shall I have Mister Cromwell order the bells to be rung, Your Majesty?" Boleyn asked, unable to hide the glee from his face. At last, everything that he had hoped for was coming true– his daughter had given birth to not nust one, but four healthy children, including two sons, he was the grandfather to the future King, and he would surely be made a duke before the end of the year. Everything had gone according to plan.

"At once," Henry agreed, his smile becoming wider at the giggles of the Boleyn siblings as their father promptly rushed from the Queen's apartments. His focus turned back to Anne, who seemed so mesmerized at their children that one might think that they had cast a spell on her. He was so pleased with her, he could not describe it. He finally had a son– _two_ sons! – that would carry on the Tudor legacy, and better yet, Anne had given him two legitimate princesses in the same birth, princesses that would undoubtedly grow up and become royal consorts to the various Princes of Europe. There was no doubt about it, now: his marriage to Anne was blessed by God.

Anne did not take her eyes off of the children, her sweet princes and princesses. She had done her duty to her cluntry and her husband by providing him with two male heirs, something that Catherine of Aragon had failed at seven times over. All of those pregnancies, and all she had to show for it was a son who lived for barely two months, and one sickly daughter, whilst Anne gave her husband four healthy children in one term. She had won. Her place in Henry's heart and his court was sealed for the rest of her life, and one day, a Tudor-Boleyn child would bring England into a Golden Age.

"The Golden Children of England," The daze in Anne's voice did not go away, the soft smile on her face enhanced by the twinkle of her dark eyes. Perhaps the best part of the entire ordeal was her children's appearances. She heard the rumors about her with Thomas Wyatt and Henry Percy, and she knew that some members of the courts in England and continental Europe alike regarded her as little more than a whore, but her children's resemblances to Henry's family were so severe that it would be impossible for anyone to doubt their parentage; whether they accepted her as Queen or not, no one could say that her children were not of Tudor blood.

"What shall we name our sons?" Henry asked, unable to hide his glee at finally, _finally_ being able to ask his wife that question. The fact that she had given him two healthy sons had only made it better, and he felt as if his heart would jump out of his chest at any second.

Anne looked up at Henry, then back down to their oldest son in contemplation. She remembered the conversation that they had where they discussed possible names for their son. Their first instinct was to name him Thomas, after her father and the Duke of Norfolk, but they had decided against it after a hearty debate about which man would claim to be the namesake first. George was another name that came up, and while Henry was partial towards it, she knew that her father would never forgive her if she named her firstborn son after a Boleyn that wasn't him. It would have to be either Henry or Edward.

"The oldest will be Edward," Anne said finally, looking back up at Henry with a smile. "Our Edward."

Henry's short-lived son by the Dowager Princess of Wales had been named Henry, and while it had been over twenty years since the child had lived and died, she was sure that he was still in her husband's memory and heart. Besides, she would not want the Duke of Richmond, sweet Hal Fitzroy, to have to share a name with his brother; it wouldn't be fair to him.

"Edward," Henry tested the name out, repeating it over and over again until he was satisfied with it. It was the perfect name for their son, the little golden Prince. "Our son will be invested with the title Prince of Wales as soon as you're strong enough to attend the ceremony, sweetheart." He declared. Duke of Cornwall would be fine, for now. "And our Duke of York?"

She paused for a moment, think over the possible names. "Edmund; for your grandfather." She added after seeing the puzzled look on Henry's face. It was not a common name for a royal prince, but it was one that she was fond of nonetheless.

"Edmund Tudor, Duke of York," Henry mumbled aloud, to see how it sounded. "A fine name for our son," He spoke a little louder, so that Anne would hear him, his face beaming with pride at the little Duke of York, who was now fast asleep.

"What shall we name our daughters?" Anne asked, brushing her finger against little Edward's cheek again. They had been so sure that they would have three sons that they had not even considered names for a daughter, much less two.

"Our older daughter will be Elizabeth," Henry said decisively, looking down at the little bundle in his arms, only to be greeted with a wide-eyed stare from the girl. She was so curious and clever already, and she had only just been born– traits that would surely last for her, and hopefully be shown in her brothers and sister.

"For your mother and mine," Anne agreed, her smile growing wider at the thought. "What about our younger daughter?"

"Katherine?" Henry suggested, half in jest and half serious. Katherine was a fine name; his youngest sister had been named Katherine before her untimely death, but he knew that if they had chosen to name the daughter Katherine, his courtiers and the common people would take it as a sign that he was showing favor to the Dowager Princess of Wales. Or, even worse, they would believe that Anne had chosen the name just to spite her rival.

Nevertheless, Anne laughed at the suggestion. She would delight in naming her daughter Katherine, although she, like Henry, knew that it could never come to pass. And if Katherine was not a suitable name, then Mary was out of the question, too.

"She should have her own name," Anne whispered, thinking over the possible names in her head. The other three children had names that began with the letter E, so she supposed that it was only fair that the same applied to their youngest daughter. "Eleanor," She said finally, looking up at her spouse with a determined look on her face. "Let her be Eleanor."

"Eleanor it is," Henry agreed, brushing his thumb against little Eleanor's cheek as she cooed. "Let's see Catherine of Aragon and the Pope say that our marriage is cursed by God now," He said, his voice smug and his eyes confident.

"Your Majesty, if I may," Boleyn said once the silence settled, startling Henry, who had not noticed he had rejoined the room. "But, as you recall, Your Majesty bestowed upon the Lady Mary, your bastard daughter, the title of Princess of Wales."

Henry's eyes darkened as he noticed Anne paling slightly while Boleyn spoke, although he did not dare to interrupt him, wanting to see what his point was. "As much, I think that it is only right and proper that Your Majesty bestow titles, perhaps peerages, upon your legitimate daughters, who might pass them onto their own sons someday, God willing. Otherwise, people may think that you are showing favor to the Lady Mary, who continues to claim the title of Princess of Wales despite it being known that your so-called marriage to Dowager Princess Catherine was declared null and void."

That was true. Mary had obstinately refused to bend to her father's will and recognize that his 'marriage' to Catherine had been declared invalid, proclaiming that she was the Princess of Wales and the only heir to the throne of England. If he continued to let her claim she was legitimate and the Princess of Wales without consequences, he knew that people may think that he favored his oldest daughter over his two younger ones – his little Tudor roses – and he couldn't have that.

"Very well," Henry stated, looking down at Eleanor and Elizabeth. "Elizabeth shall henceforth be known as the Princess Royal, a title that will be reserved only for the King's eldest _legitimate_ daughter. She will also be created the Duchess of Bedford, a title that my great-uncle once had. Eleanor will henceforth be known as the Duchess of Clarence and of Hereford– to make up for her lack of a title such as Elizabeth's." He clarified, much to Anne's shock.

"Henry.." She started, although Henry quickly cut her off.

"I want to show you how much I love our children," He interrupted, leaning down to kiss her hand. "No one will ever be allowed to doubt you or our children's rights again," He vowed.

"You're too kind to me," Anne smiled, her heart fluttering with gratitude at the generosity that Henry was showing their children.

"And, one more thing. In honor of our children's birth, I shall elevate four men– not counting your father and brother," He had already decided to elevate them, so he did not want Anne to choose them. "And I want you to do the honors of choosing the men."

"Me?" Anne nearly gasped in shock. Henry had never come to her with such a matter before. How was she supposed to pick four men for Henry to raise to the peerage, or raise even higher, for that matter. She did not have many allies at court, as of now, although she suspected that now that she had birthed the Golden Children of England, people would be more willing to accept her as Queen and align themselves with her.

No. She would pick men that were loyal to her from the start.

"Mister Cromwell," She started, picking the man who had been loyal to their marriage and the Reformation from the start. She knew that Cromwell had begun making powerful enemies at court, due to the fact that he was lowborn even compared to simple knights, so hopefully, being elevated to the peerage might be able to have Cromwell form more powerful allies.

"My uncle, Sir Edmund Howard," She continued, earning a look of confusion from her husband at the odd choice. "I hear that he has not been able to continue affording his children's upkeep despite his new post in Calais, and he has always been kind to me."

Henry nodded at the explanation, so she continued. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say Thomas Wyatt, although she knew that Henry did not care for him much, so she changed her mind. "Sir Francis Weston," She thought of the youth with slight enthusiasm, as he had seemed so eager to be her ally, something that proved helpful as he was knighted during her coronation in June. She had found a friend in him, a true friend, and she was grateful for that.

"And the last one?" Henry prodded, curious to see who his wife would pick.

Anne bit her lip in confusion. She did not think of anyone else she could choose, as everyone else was already well-off or was not well-liked by Henry, something that worried her. She thought about it for a minute or two, before her face lit up with determination. "My sister, Mary," She declared, a smile growing at Henry's confused face.

"In her own right?"

Anne nodded. "When Mary is called to God, she will be able to pass the title to her son, and her son will be able to pass it onto his sons, and so on; much like how one of our sons will inherit my title of Marquess of Pembroke."

Henry had not thought of it like that when she first stated her sister, although once Anne explained it, it made more sense to her. Mary was the sister of a Queen, after all, as well as aunt to the future King of England. "If that's what you want," He conceded, kissing Anne's cheek as the smile on her face grew into the largest grin he had ever seen.

"It is," She confirmed, looking back to the children and sighing contently.

Her children were healthy, and highly favored by their father. Her sister and brother were going to be made peers in their own rights. Her husband was proud of her, and her place as Queen was secure for the rest of her life.

Life was perfect.

* * *

And, there you have it! Anne has delivered her quadruplets successfully, and things are looking up for her and Henry.. for now.

Next chapter will include the reactions of some certain anti-Anne people, the christening of the quadruplets, and ennobling of the men chosen by Anne, among other things. Until then, goodbye!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for the kind reviews! Truthfully, I had not expected to get as much positive feedback from the story as I did, but knowing that people enjoyed my work warms my heart.

I know that one of my reviewers was puzzled/irked at something that I had written, so I will clarify it here; when I wrote the midwife telling Henry and Anne that they should expect three little princes and princesses, I meant for it to mean that she was telling them they would have three children, and not a guess for the genders of what ultimately became the quadruplets. I thought this might have been implied, due to Henry stating that him and Anne would have three sons, while Anne, being a little more practical, figured that she and Henry would at least have two sons and a daughter, (Ultimately, Henry's confidence that they would have three sons and no daughters played a part in the conversation in which they decided on potential baby names, hence why they had not initially been prepared with names for a daughter), but I do apologize for the confusion. I hope this clears things up, and as always, thank you for the feedback! :)

One more note: apparently the word quadruplet did not exist until the late 18th century, but I have no idea what quadruplets were called before then, so I've taken creative license and made it so that the word existed earlier.

Now, onto the story! The children have been born, and everything is looking up for Anne and Henry, but there are some people who wish it could be otherwise..

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

 _September 10th, 1533_

The King had certainly spared no expense for the celebrations regarding the birth of the Concubine's brats. The bells had been rung four times a day for the past three days and would be rung four times again tomorrow for the final time, as symbolic of the four pups that the bitch had birthed. King Henry distributed great foods and wines to the common people and to the court, held Mass for four hours each day with prayers said in honor of his slut and her pups, commissioned a new ship that would be named the _Saint Queen Anne_ , bestowed peerages on the harlot's bastard daughters as well as her devil sons, and, if the rumors were correct, had created a new title of Princess Royal for the eldest legitimate daughter; making it Princess Mary's by rights.

When Chapuys had first heard that the witch Anne Boleyn's labor had lasted for hours without any sign of a child, he had hoped that the complications would continue, taking the life of the false Queen as well as her hellspawn. He thought that perhaps the Concubine had not been pregnant in the first place, and had merely stuffed cloths up her skirts to give herself the appearance of being big with children, but alas, that was not the case.

When Sir William Brereton, one of the only trustworthy men in the court, delivered the news that the whore had delivered _four_ healthy brats instead of the three that had been expected, he felt as though he would become ill, especially because Brereton had confirmed that two of the little bastards were sons. However, Brereton remained adamant that the brats were not children of the King, and were instead the spawn of one of the usurper's many lovers. Brereton confessed that he had not gotten a good look at the brats yet, so as to confirm his declaration, but Chapuys understood that the likelihood of the brats not being the King's were high– after all, Anne Boleyn was Satan's mistress, and her bastards were probably his spawn.

The procession for the christening of the brats was long and gaudy, something that would normally drive Chapuys to retch, had he not been expected to behave as one might expect from an Imperial ambassador. As the Emperor was not currently in favor with the King, due to his continued support of Queen Catherine and Princess Mary, Chapuys's role among those present was next to nothing, though he would have little cause to resent it. He knew that the Concubine's brats were not the true Princes and Princesses of England, as they were born of an illegitimate 'marriage' seeped in witchcraft, heresy, and immorality.

Ambassador de Morette, who was currently standing in as ambassador due to Jean du Bellay's absence, had been chosen to act as the proxy for King Francis, who had been picked as godfather to the Concubine's eldest son. As he carried the brat in the procession, Chapuys could not help but notice the side-eye that de Morette had given him, something that he took as a sign of hostility, possibly in the face of renewed tension between France and the Empire. Perhaps Ambassador de Morette had been instructed by his master to act hostile towards him in order to show King Henry that France was willing to align itself with England against the perceived threat of the Empire, even if the cost of supporting the King meant boasting the bitch and her pups as the legitimate heirs of the King.

Chapuys was sure that once his master, the Emperor, retrieved his letter about the witch's birth, he would be instructed to act like a friend and ally to England as well, forced to acknowledge the false Queen and the hellspawn as legitimate in order to keep relations with the island nation smooth. He would, however, continue to throw his support behind Queen Catherine and Princess Mary, no matter the cost.

As long as Queen Catherine, the _true_ Queen, and Princess Mary, the _real_ princess, were breathing, Anne Boleyn and her brats would never truly sit on the thrones of England.

* * *

George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford, smiled with pride as he carried his nephew Edmund in hand. To his surprise, the King had privately pulled him aside on the day after the quadruplets' birth to let him know that both he and Anne wanted George to act as godfather for the little Duke of York. The King had also told him that he wished to elevate George to the title of Duke of Buckingham, which would make him the highest peer of England, save his nieces and nephews, who would now be peers by virtue of their status as legitimate children of the King, as well as Hal Fitzroy, who was a duke twice over, as well as an earl. He would even outrank his father, uncle, and the Duke of Suffolk! He did not know what he had done to deserve such kindness from the King, but he was grateful for it.

He had only seen Anne once since the birth, as he had been busy taking parts in the celebrations for his nieces and nephews, although based on what Mary had told him, she seemed to be in good health and good spirits, and would soon be churched and able to rejoin the court. She had made a joke about how once Anne was churched, the celebrations for the quadruplets would commence again, much to the ire of their father, who had unexpectedly not been in good spirits since the birth. It would seem that he had caught wind of King Henry's plans for him as godfather to Edmund, as well as his plans to make him a duke in his own right, specifically granting him a dukedom that would make him one of the first Lords of England.

Or, maybe he had caught wind of Henry's plans for _Mary._ The one time that he had seen Anne since the birth had been after Henry pulled him aside and let him know of his plans for him, and after George had shared his good news, Mary had shared news that had sent him into a shock; Henry was granting Mary the title of Marquess of Winchester in her own right, as well as a purse large enough to rival any other peers. Henry had made it clear to her that it would make her the premier marquess of the land save Anne herself, who was still technically the Marquess of Pembroke, and as such, she would be treated with every respect worthy of her new station. She was also asked to be the godmother of Prince Edward, as he lacked a royal godmother– the Queen of France was the sister of the Emperor, so she would not do, and the King of Scotland had not yet found a wife who could step in as godmother.

George knew that Mary was delighted for all of their good fortunes, not only for the sake of gaining status, but because she would be able to provide a good life for herself and her two children from her late husband. After he died, he left Mary in a great deal of debt, and truth be told, he did not think that she had never been able to wash the stain away from being known as 'the Great Prostitute.' With her new status and the purse befitting her station, it seemed that her life would be able to start again.

" _Ego te baptizo, in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti_ ," Archbishop Cramner pronounced, dripping the holy water onto the head of baby Edward in order to properly baptize him. He handed Edward off to the French Ambassador, and repeated the process against with Edmund, Elizabeth, and Eleanor, handing them off to each of their perspective pairs of godparents.

The Lady Mary Howard, daughter of the Duke of Norfolk and the soon-to-be Duchess of Richmond and Somerset due to her engagement with Henry Fitzroy, had agreed to stand up as Prince Edmund's godmother, delighted in the fact that the King and Queen trusted her enough to watch over her cousin in such a close manner. Anne had asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to be Elizabeth's godfather, but as he was performing the christening, she was handed to the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, who had agreed to be her godmother. Henry Howard, the Earl of Surrey had agreed to stand up as Eleanor's godfather, while the role of godmother was fulfilled by Nan Saville.

" _Vade in pace, et dominus vobiscum,_ " Archbishop Cramner continued, smiling at the chorus of amen's that rung out. The toll of the bells collided with the cries of the quadruplets, a sure sign that the Devil had been driven out of them, and as the godparents wrapped their prospective godchildren in their christening robes, the herald began to lead the procession back to the Queen's chambers, where she was waiting with the King.

"God, of infinite goodness, send prosperous life and long to the High and Mighty Princes and Princesses of England: Edward, Duke of Cornwall, Edmund, Duke of York, Elizabeth, Duchess of Bedford, and Eleanor, Duchess of Clarence and of Hereford!"

Archbishop Cramner thought it strange that Queen Anne and King Henry had chosen to ask the herald to omit Elizabeth's title of Princess Royal from the announcements, although he figured that Elizabeth would be proclaimed the new title at a later date and in her own ceremony, which would surely be followed by banquets and celebrations in honor of the oldest legitimate daughter of the King. He followed the procession into the Queen's chambers, walking alongside the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk now that he had finished baptizing the children, watching with pride as the godparent holding the princes and princesses presented them to the King and Queen, who kissed each of them on the forehead in order to give them blessings.

Queen Anne looked radiant; she had not yet fully recovered from the childbirth, as expected since she birthed four children, but she seemed to be making a faster recovery than most women would. Archbishop Cramner's heart fluttered as he watched the King and Queen grant blessings to their children, shutting his eyes as he thought of how glorious the future would be. Good Queen Anne would remain Queen for the rest of her days, and someday, little Prince Edward would sit on the throne as King. Prince Edward would be the first future English monarch to be raised as a Protestant, and as such, it was important that he continued his push for reform, so that the country would be ready for him when it was his time to rule. Whatever happened, he vowed that he would always stay loyal to Queen Anne and her children, who would surely become the Kings and Queens of Heaven someday.

They would bring about a golden world.

* * *

 _September 15th, 1533_

She had done it.

Anne Boleyn, her father's Concubine, had done the impossible. Not only had she birthed four children in one pregnancy, but she had birthed _four_ healthy children, including two sons! Where her mother, her good, saintly mother had failed on several counts, the whore had succeeded four times in a row. Why had God allowed her to have healthy children? Why would He forsake her mother and bless the Concubine?

No. He had not forsaken her mother. Mary shut her eyes and clutched her rosary close to her chest, kissing the cross determinedly. Her eyes were red and puffy from her sobs upon receiving the news of the Concubine's victory, swollen as if an insect had struck her and bit her. Ambassador Chapuys had managed to sneak a letter to her in the summertime, informing her of his continued allegiance to her, as well as informing Mary of the newest threats by the slut. He wrote to her, saying that the Concubine had used her dark arts to bewitch the King, her father into granting her the Queen's Crown, something that rightfully belonged to her mother. He had informed her that she was with child, – no doubt with the spawn of Satan or one of her demonic lovers – and that she would continue to bewitch the King into declaring her little bastards as his true heirs.

Mary knew that it was a sin to wish death on someone, and she hated to disobey God and His words, but she had hoped the Concubine would be lost in childbirth giving her father a lifeless child, or better yet, taken in birth with childbed fever, leaving behind a healthy child that would not grow up under her evil influence. When the whore died, her father would be free of her wicked spells and bring Mary and her mother back to court as the pearl of his world and his true, legitimate wife. The witch's children would be made bastards, as Mary had been made a bastard after the usurper ousted her mother, but she would still love her half-siblings, even though they were the children of a Godless marriage and a whore. She would never make them feel as if they would have to suffer for their mother's crimes, and despite their bastard status, she would make sure that her father would treat them with every courtesy and respect granted to them as his children... if they were even his, to begin with.

But it was not to be. The Concubine had succeeded, giving her father two healthy sons and two healthy daughters in one pregnancy, something that her father would surely see as a sign that God was smiling on his so-called marriage. How could this be? The Boleyn witch had undoubtedly sold her soul to Satan, using his dark magick to grant her not one, but four children. According to Chapuys, it was well-known at court that Anne Boleyn was a Lutheran heretic that kept an English bible in her apartments, and that she had witch's marks on her body, such as moles and an extra finger on her right hand. So why had her father not been able to see past her spells and restore Mary and her mother?

If anything, her father seemed to be doubling down on her – the work of the heretic, no doubt. Lord Hussey, her chamberlain, had participated in the christening for Anne Boleyn's children, and when he came back to Beaulieu from the court, he brought a dreadful message with him: come October, Mary and her household would be evicted from Beaulieu, as the King intended to grant the estate to George Boleyn, brother of the Concubine and apparently a soon-to-be Duke. And that wasn't even all. Lord Hussey also told her about a rumor that he had heard; apparently, the whore's oldest daughter, Elizabeth, would be granted the new title of Princess Royal, which was reserved for the eldest legitimate daughter of the monarch, making it hers by rights.

If only the Concubine had not given her father his long-desired sons! Then, her father would see reason and remove the whore from his court, restoring Mary and her mother to their rightful places as his heir and his wife, never letting another woman or child displant them in his affection ever again. But, no, he would continue to boast Anne Boleyn's children as his heirs, leaving Mary and the true Queen neglected by all in favor of the Concubine...

No. There would be hope for her, yet. God works in mysterious ways, she must not forget that. Perhaps He was testing her and her mother to see if they would forsake His will under the pressure of her father, who refused to have anything to do with them as long as they continued to claim to be his Queen and legitimate daughter. Once they passed His test, God would work His will and see to it that her father bring her home and proclaim Mary as his heir, allowing her to be the first Queen of the Tudors and England's first Queen Regnant. _I, Princess Mary Tudor, the one true heir to the throne of England, swear that I will never shy away from my duty to God, as He made me the one surviving child of a true and lawful marriage for a reason._ She vowed, clutching her Catholic rosary tighter as she looked towards the ceiling in order to show God that she was with Him. _I_ _will be the Queen of England, no matter what._

* * *

 _September 29th, 1533_

"George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford, you are, by order and permission of His Majesty, King Henry the Eighth, today created Duke of Buckingham." Audley droned out, reading the patent of nobility that lay in his hands. It was the first elevation to the peerage in over a year– the last time it occurred, King Henry had raised the Queen, then the Lady Anne Boleyn, to the title of Marquess of Pembroke so that she would be a peer in her own right and so that he would not be accused of marrying a commoner. Now that the Queen had successfully given the King his long-desired male heirs and been churched after her recovery from the ordeal of the childbirth, he would grant the men that the Queen had selected peerages, ensuring that allies of the Boleyn family would be raised higher than any of them might have thought possible even six months ago.

"Arise, Your Grace," George, now the Duke of Buckingham, looked up as the King lifted the coronet of a viscount from his head and replaced it with that of a duke's, returning the smile that his brother-in-law had given him. He took the new sword that the King had held out for him, standing and moving to the side along with the other peers. He watched with pride as his sister, Lady Mary Carey, was called into the room, her new bright red dress flowing behind her as she knelt in front of the King.

Mary had never thought that the day would come where she, who had once been called _the Great Prostitute_ , would be honored as the sister-in-law of the King of England and sister of the beloved Queen, including being granted a peerage in her own right! Her young children, Catherine and Henry, were at the front of the crowd of courtiers watching her elevation, and although she could not see them, she was sure that they had smiles on their faces, proud of their mother for her ascension. Things had been hard for them after William's death; she had not loved him much, as the marriage had been more of a political marriage than one for her love, and he left her in debt, forcing her to sell her jewels and fine clothes before Anne had managed to grant her a pension. That was not even the worse of it - Catherine and Henry had also been slandered after William's death, regarded as unwelcome and unacknowledged bastards by King Henry, her former lover. She knew that it was not true, but it hurt to see that her young children had been tainted by the stain of her reputation. Hopefully, now that she would be a peeress, her fortunes would improve. Perhaps she would even be able to find a second husband now.

"Lady Mary Carey, you are, by order and permission of His Majesty, King Henry the Eighth, today created Marquess of Winchester." Audley read the patent of Mary's nobility, his monotone voice seemingly echoing through the rooms. Mary stood as still as she possibly could as King Henry placed the coronet of a marquess on her head, standing as he invited her to rise. She moved to stand with the other peers, specifically in between her uncle and George, who seemed just as proud as her father was as he walked to the King and kneeled.

"Thomas Boleyn, you are, by order and permission of His Majesty, King Henry the Eighth, today created Duke of Wiltshire."

Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, winced as Audley spoke the words as if they had just cast a powerful curse of pain on him. All of his worst dreams seemed to have been coming true during the month of September– the Boleyn bitch had birthed four healthy children, two of them sons, and all members and allies of the Boleyn family were being honored and elevated, including her sister and that ambitious rat Cromwell. He looked over to see that his wife Catherine had a sullen look on her face, though she tried to mask her smile whenever his son Henry looked to her. Suffolk knew that Catherine was just as angry about the turn of events as he was, if not more. After all, her mother had once been Catherine of Aragon's most faithful lady-in-waiting, and Queen Catherine was her namesake.

At first, the couple had believed that Anne Boleyn had birthed a daughter or a stillborn, as even after the news that the first two children were delivered, there was no news of what the baby's sexes had been. The two had begun a small celebration in their private chambers, celebrating what they had believed to be good news, only for the bells to begin ringing and putting an end to their small moment of victory.

It was hard to think that Anne Boleyn had won. He didn't want to believe it, but it was true. She would remain 'Queen' for the rest of her days, as Henry would never think to supplant the woman who had given him four healthy children in one pregnancy, much less two sons. Good Queen Catherine and Princess Mary would stay abandoned and disgraced by the King unless they accepted lesser, downgraded titles and professed their allegiance to him and the Boleyn whore. Suffolk regretted that the people of England, who had once declared that they would accept no other Queen than Catherine of Aragon and no other heir than Princess Mary, had begun to turn their backs on the fallen Queen and Princess, accepting Anne Boleyn and her pups as Queen and heirs. If the rumors were true, even the Catholic conservatives in the North were becoming more accepting of Anne than they had been previously!

Cromwell's elevation to the title of Earl of Essex snapped Suffolk away from his thoughts, making him realize that he had missed the elevation of another man, apparently an uncle of Anne's who had had nothing but ill fortune in his life. The elevation ceremony was now over, and the fanfare began as the King escorted Anne out of the room, leading her into the hall that held the banquet in honor of those who had just been elevated by the King. Suffolk, upon entering the banquet hall, ushered his wife and son away from the main action, sitting in a near-remote corner of the room.

"I can't believe that the whore has won," Catherine Brandon hissed under her breath, watching as the King honored his so-called wife and the 'fine' men that he had chosen to elevate today. She was sure that she was the last person that wanted to be in the room right now, as she had considered Anne Boleyn to be her mortal enemy, despite having never spoken to the woman personally. While she knew that Anne Boleyn was a reformer, like her, she did not care for the fact that she had supplanted Queen Catherine, a good, true woman, in order to ascend to the throne. Her mother was Queen Catherine's closest friend and confidante for years, and now she wasn't even allowed to see her, as her household had been dissolved and anyone suspected of being sympathetic to her was out of favor with the King and forbidden to come into contact with the Queen.

And it was all thanks to Anne.

"It isn't fair!" She protested, keeping her voice lowered as she saw her husband's lips form a scowl at the sight before them. Anne Boleyn had begun to dance with her brother, the new Duke of Buckingham, while the King smiled at the pair, looking as besotted with her as ever now that she had given him what he had desired most of all. "Families pray for even one strong and healthy child every day, yet God decided to grant the wicked Boleyn bitch four in one pregnancy? Queen Catherine, the truest and honest woman England has ever known, had seven pregnancies, and all she got from it was a sickly daughter and a short-lived son!"

It was a sin to wish death upon others, and Catherine knew that, but she couldn't help but think about how glorious life would be if the ship that carried Anne Boleyn back to England had sunk, or even if she had been carried off during the bout of sweating sickness that she had nearly died from all of those years ago. Had Anne Boleyn died before she could do any damage, Queen Catherine and Princess Mary would not be abandoned as they have, and there would be peace throughout all of England. It just wasn't fair that a good, pious woman such as Catherine of Aragon was left alone and destitute, while a woman who caused so much damage just to satisfy her own ambitions had been granted everything that she had ever dreamt of and more. It pained her to think about what Queen Catherine must be going through, even more now that the witch had given the King the healthy sons that he had dreamt of since the moment he was crowned. She must think that her cause would die out because Anne Boleyn had won, and that everyone who once supported her would now abandon her, but in that feat, she would be wrong.

Catherine was her mother's daughter, and she would continue to support and defend the rightful Queen, no matter the cost.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm back with another chapter! Seeing all of the positive reactions to this story has made me so happy, and I'm very glad that people are invested in the story. I love writing it very much!

For those of you that don't like the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk: don't worry, I don't like them, either. In fact, I kind of hate them! I intend for something to happen to them, but I have not decided what it should be yet. At the bottom of the chapter, there will be two polls. Please check them out! Now, onto the story! :)

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

 _October 12th, 1533_

Edward, Elizabeth, Eleanor, and Edmund were perfect in every way.

Henry could not believe that only one month had passed since their children, their precious Tudor roses, were born. It had felt like only a few hours had passed since they welcomed the children into the world, although all of the celebrations in honor of their births made him feel like months upon months had passed as well. He didn't regret all of the celebrations in honor of his children– no, how could he? The fact that Anne had given birth to four healthy children, much less giving him two sons, was proof that his marriage was valid in the eyes of God, something that he rejoiced in. He knew that he had made the right decision when he decided to make Anne his wife and Queen, and together, they had proved everyone who doubted them wrong. Besides, it had been nearly eighteen years since the last time there had been a baby in the royal nursery, and over twenty since there was the last time that there had been a boy!

Things had been going according to his plan since the birth: Anne's reputation had begun to repair itself after the birth, with the people admiring her bravery during the birth and its aftermath, as well as the miracle of her giving birth to four children! Because of this, many of his subjects had gladly signed the new Oath being spread around. Little Edward had been proclaimed as the little Prince of Wales, much to the joy of the people of England, who have since begun to call him names like Little Prince Ned or The Golden Prince. Elizabeth had similarly been declared Princess Royal, and although she was not considered as important as Edward, the people had still greeted her kindly, calling her Sweet Little Bess. While the Bishop of Rome and Catherine of Aragon had still not yielded and accepted that his 'marriage' to her had been cursed by God, King Francis and other European monarchs had relented and finally began to acknowledge Anne as his Queen. The Holy Roman Emperor had only indirectly acknowledged her, something that he would address with Chapuys the next time that he saw the man. If Chapuys and his master wanted there to be any chance of reconciliation between England and the Empire, then Emperor Charles would have to acknowledge Anne as Queen and their children as his true heirs.

He smiled as he watched his wife and her ladies playing with young Edward, not minding that no one had noticed him yet. It was a beautiful sight, seeing Anne play with their son, the precious boy that he had waiting so long for. He felt a sense of pride as he remembered that their children primarily looked of him and his family, getting the Tudor coloring with a few Boleyn features scattered here and there. The Boleyn features were more prominent on Edward and Elizabeth, however; Edward had Anne's smile, but Elizabeth had those mysterious and beautiful brown eyes of Anne's that he loved so much, those hooks to the soul.

Henry was very pleased that Anne's recovery had gone well, and been fairly quick compared to Catherine's recovery after her stillborns or miscarriages. It was remarkable, the way that his wife had continued to dazzle and amaze him with her strength. He knew that the birth had been long and painful for her, and while he had been eager for his wife to recover, he was not going to rush her. It had been one of the scariest moments of his life when he realized just how long the birth had taken, and he had begun to fear the worst before the Duke of Wiltshire indirectly gave him the idea to go to his beloved wife. Even after the birth, he had been worried for her, but against all odds, she seemed to be fine. Anne had even hinted to him that she would like him to visit her bed soon, something that filled him with relief.

Anne's pregnancy had been especially hard for him, since her rapidly expanding belly meant that they had been forced to forsake their carnal visits until after the birth, so that they would not harm their children. Many beautiful women had come to court during Anne's pregnancy, especially during the last few months of it, and although he had not been tempted to take a mistress at first, Lady Eleanor Luke had certainly made him think about it after Suffolk pointed her out to him. She was exquisite– her blonde hair and soft face contrasted perfectly with Anne's more 'exotic' features, and the way that she danced with such confidence drove him crazy.

But he had not strayed. During their years-long courtship, when Catherine of Aragon refused to yield and admit that she lied about her virginity and Pope Clement had dodged all of his attempts to speed up the annulment process, Henry had not had a thought or affection for anyone else, his eyes set only on the woman that he intended to make his new wife and Queen. The two had been tempted to make love with each other before they knew for a fact that they would be married, of course, but they had not actually lain together until that magical night in France, with the rain soft outside of their windows, the candles lit dimly, and their skin mingling together in a passionate embrace as they achieved what they had waited so long for. Anne had been worth the wait then, and after birthing four healthy children, Anne had proven that she was worth the wait once more. Perhaps if Anne had only given him a daughter, things would have been different, but it had not happened and he was grateful for it.

Of course, as the King, he was entitled to take a mistress as often as he wanted to, while his wife and Queen was expected to shut her eyes and endure his affairs. But with Anne, it was different. No woman had ever made Henry feel the way she had before. His abstinence during their courtship had been a testament of his love for her, a sign that no matter what, he would remain by her side and not let anyone influence his mind away from her. If he forsook her now, he knew that his courtiers would gossip about it, creating rumors that he had still not been pleased with two sons and that she had fallen from favor. He didn't even want to think about what Anne might think if he took a mistress, but his mind wandered back to the time that they had been walking together and he informed her that he would have to temporarily return to Catherine's table and bed. Not only had she been furious at the prospect, but she was genuinely hurt that the man she was promised to would share the bed of a woman that wasn't her. If Anne found out that he took a mistress, she would be heartbroken, and perhaps even start to think that he did not love her anymore. And he would never allow that to happen.

Lady Eleanor was tempting, but Anne was even more so.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked, a look of confusion sweeping his face as he saw Anne preparing to feed Edward. He chuckled softly at the looks of Anne and her ladies, who had finally noticed that he was there.

Anne instinctively clutched Edward close to her as Henry spoke, startling her. She had been on her toes since the birth of the children, and despite her family's insistence that Henry would never think to get rid of her now that she had borne him four heirs, she could not shake the feeling that something would happen. She didn't think that Henry would get rid of her in the first place, not even in her wildest dreams, but she did think that someone else might try to get rid of her, or even worse, the children.

There had been an assassination attempt upon her at her coronation, something that Henry and her father had tried to keep a secret from her. And although Henry had tried to persuade her that the assassination attempt may have been towards him when she confronted him about it, they both knew better: somebody had tried to murder her, despite the fact that she had been visibly showing in her pregnancy by then! Whether the assassin had wanted her dead or not, her children were innocent, and if they had no qualms about attempting to shoot her when she was with child, whose to say that they would have a problem with murdering her children now that they had been born?

"May I not feed him from my own breast?" She smiled, forcing her mind away from the dark thoughts that had begun to form. She frowned as Henry tsk'd at her and walked over, picking their son up and holding him close.

"Queens don't do that," He said simply, rocking Edward back and forth. "I'll bring him to his wetnurse." He handed the baby off to his wetnurse, a smile on his face, before he turned back to face Anne. "The children will soon be given their own establishment at Hatfield. Among others, the Lady Mary will attend them– the Prince of Wales, especially."

Anne could not believe the words that had left her husband's mouth. "Catherine's daughter?" She asked, shocked at what Henry had suggested to her. She wanted the Lady Mary to accept her as Queen, but she did not want it to be like _this_. There was no doubt in Anne's mind that Lady Mary would blame her for her miserable situation, never believing for a second that her father, who had once called her the pearl of his world, would do such a thing to her if it had not been at her urging. She knew that others, such as the few sympathizers that Catherine and Mary still had left, would share the view as well, and she felt as if it would cause the repairs being done to her reputation by the birth of the quadruplets to become undone.

"It is well that she knows her new place," Henry replied, frowning at the thought of his disgraced oldest daughter. Despite his belief that Mary would bend to his will and realize that his union to her mother was cursed and seeped in sin after the birth of the quadruplets, it had not happened, as Mary not only continued to insist that she was the Princess of Wales, but she had begun to claim the title of Princess Royal, too! And Catherine.. she continued to deny him, pretending to the title of Queen even after the entire world now believed their marriage was cursed.

He thanked God that he had decided to separate them, as there was no telling how many lies Catherine would fill her head with now. He still could not believe Catherine, the lying strumpet, had managed to turn the pearl of his world against him, hardening her heart and her head so that she would never hear a word against her mother. She had madd it so that Mary would only think of her as England's Queen, something that constituted high treason, and if it were not for the love that he bore her daughter and his sister-in-law, he would ensure their punishment for it.

Catherine would not be executed, nor would she be sent back to Spain for fear that she would call upon her nephew to raise an army and overthrow him. No, he would do something that would not only hurt her pride and vanity, but Mary's as well. It pained him to treat Mary like this, but if it was the only way to ensure that she and Catherine would yield to them, then so be it.

"And she won't try anything?" Anne questioned, eyeing Henry suspiciously as she spoke. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask why Anne would ask such a question, until he remembered the assassination attempt in June. While he had attempted to assure Anne that perhaps the attempt was made on his life, he knew that Anne was not a fool. The assassination attempt had been on her; someone had tried to murder his wife, and while she was with child, too. She must have been so scared, he realized, his mind running through all of the possible scenarios of what might have happened on that fateful day.

She must be scared now, too. If her would-be assassin had attempted to murder her when she was with child, then it was likely that they would have no qualms about murdering her or the children, either. The assassin had never even been caught, the investigation into it opening and closing as quickly as it began due to a lack of evidence. Perhaps if he opened the investigation again, making it clear that he would not tolerate it being closed until they had successfully found the man who dared to harm his dear wife and children, she would be calmer.

"Of course, my love," Henry confirmed. "Mary might not be willing to accept our marriage now, but she would never harm a child, much less her own siblings." He did not have any doubts that Mary would love her siblings, regardless of her feelings towards Anne. Perhaps once Mary and her mother took the Oath that he had required throughout England, she would be able to reconcile herself with Anne, the woman that she had treated so poorly.

Anne did not truly believe that Mary wouldn't try anything, but she knew that Henry would not change his mind once it had been made up, so she agreed with him anyways. Her mind could not stop thinking about the possibility of something happening to their children, so she plastered a fake smile on her face as her husband continued to talk about the plans for what would happen when the children went to be resettled at Hatfield.

God help them all if someone tried anything.

* * *

 _December 17th, 1533_

Lady Margaret Bryan, Lady Governess to the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, prided herself in knowing what to do in any situation, but the prospect of the King of England's bastard daughter coming to Hatfield to serve as a lady in the household of his legitimate children was a bewildering one, and she did not know how to approach the subject. The Lady Mary Tudor would be arriving at Hatfield shortly, and while King Henry had sent instructions for how what his daughter's duties were to be in the household of the children and where he wanted her room to be, some things had remained unclear.

The King had made it plain that they were to treat Lady Mary as if she were any other servant until such a time came where the girl was prepared to sign the Oath, that much was sure, but he had not left specific provisions as to how they were supposed to handle her obstinate behavior. A regular servant she might be, but were there still natural boundaries that they were supposed to respect due to her being the King's daughter? Were there certain punishments that were off-limits? What were they do to about Lady Mary's prayer service, which she would no doubt want done in the Catholic manner of ways?

She did not know what was and wasn't acceptable, and that would put her in a tight bind until she figured out the boundaries expected to be kept between her and the young woman. It wasn't that Lady Bryan had no sympathy with the girl, as she could not begin to imagine how it might feel to be living in luxury as the prospective heir one moment and downgraded and forgotten the next, but she would not shirk away from her duties as Lady Governess to the Princes, nor would she allow her sympathy for Lady Mary to win over the logical decisions that she would have to make. After all, she was a relative to the Queen, and out of dozens of respective governesses for their two sons, the King and Queen had chosen her.

"The Lady Mary, Lady Bryan," One of the ladies, Lady Fitzwilliam, announced to her, causing her to turn her head and looked at the woman in front of her. Her resemblance to the King and Dowager Princess was unmistakable, her light eyes matching her father's and her strong, proud chin clearly coming from Catherine of Aragon. She looked much older than her years in the black outfit that she was wearing, her hair bound up in a style that made her look more like an aged spinster than a girl in her marriageable years, ready to leave her family behind to become a wife and mother.

"Lady Mary," She spoke, a genuine smile on her face at the newest lady of the household. The Lady Mary did not return the smile, though the hard look on her face shifting to one of surprise was an indication that she had indeed acknowledged what she had said. She motioned her hand out to indicate that Mary should follow her, turning around and beginning to give Mary a small tour. "Welcome to Hatfield, your new home. I am Lady Margaret Bryan, Governess to the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York."

She looked back and saw that it was on the tip of Lady Mary's tongue to say something, as she had opened and shut her mouth as soon as her head turned to face her. Satisfied, she turned back around and continued to lead her through the place. "These other ladies are also here to attend the Princes and Princesses, as, of course, are you." She led Lady Mary into the room where Mistress Katherine Champernowne and other ladies were tending to the young princes and princesses. "Lady Mary, may I introduce you to Their Highnesses: Prince Edward, Prince Edmund, Princess Elizabeth, and Princess Eleanor?"

Mary eyed the children suspiciously. Her rosary, the one symbol of her Catholic faith that had not been taken from her yet, swung like a pendulum against her neck, getting heavier and heavier the longer than time moved on. She might have liked to convince herself that the children before her were not her father's, instead the brats of one of Anne Boleyn's lovers or even the spawn of Satan himself, but the resemblance to her father was so severe that she could not bring herself to do it. A small part of her was elated that she finally had more siblings than a half-brother that she had neve actually met, but alas, the elation was overshadowed by a sense of pity for her siblings, who were illegitimate and would bear the stain of bastardy forever as a result of their parents' living in sin.

She, the true Princess of Wales and the Princess Royal, would never have to bear the stain of bastardy, no matter how much her father tried to convince the people otherwise. He may load Anne Boleyn and her children up with as many titles and rights as he wanted to, but it would not change the fact that she would never be the true Queen of England, and her children would never be his legitimate heirs, as Pope Paul himself, God's representative on Earth, had decreed their farce of a marriage to be null and void and all of its offspring would be illegitimate. Normally, her father, who had once been the most devout Catholic monarch in the world, would have submitted himself to the will of the Pope, but the witch Anne Boleyn had corrupted and bewitched her father's mind away from God, inticting him to live in sin with her so that she might drive England further into Lutherism, heresy, and immorality.

Part of Mary was still in disbelief that her father would ever try and set her mother aside, with or without the use of Anne Boleyn's heretical witchcraft. Her mother, her dear, sweet mother, was a pious woman and a true Catholic, someone who would never lie about her maidenhood in order to snatch the Queen's Crown away from someone else that might deserve it more than her, unlike the Boleyn strumpet. She knew of the gossip about her, and how she had been the lover of the poet Thomas Wyatt, Henry Percy, and dozens upon dozens of other men. Her mother, the true Queen, would have never.

When she and her mother were returned to her father's side, the Boleyn woman would be banished from court, or even better, burned at the stake as the witch she is. When the day of judgement came for her, Mary might pray for her soul, although she knew that the Concubine was past saving, given the way that she forced her father into tearing England and the Holy Church apart just so that he would be able to gain access to her bed.

Oh, if only God had not decided to test her like this!

The oldest daughter, Elizabeth, began to make a fuss, her eyes opening intensely as she sobbed. Seeing those eyes, the Anne Boleyn eyes, made Mary feel ill, as if she could not stand any longer. "This is your room, Lady Mary," She heard a lady say, prompting her to follow the woman into a small room that, in Mary's opinion, was not fit for even the lowest of the low. The lady quickly absconded from the room, leaving Mary alone to sit on her bed.

It had taken a moment, but the tears began to fall freely, her chest heaving as she thought about everything that had happened to her. How could this be the way things would go? Why had God decided to test her this way? Why would her father, the King, listen to the daughter of a knight instead of his true wife and child?

It was all Anne Boleyn's fault. Mary clutched the side of the bed tightly as she sobbed, so far away from the world that she had once known and loved that it disturbed her greatly. One question burned in the back of her mind: how far was the Boleyn woman willing to go to make her life miserable?

* * *

 _December 25th, 1533_

The Christmas celebrations were glorious as ever this year.

Last year, the celebrations had been more dull, as so many of the women of the court had been in the household of Catherine of Aragon, or related to courtiers that supported her in his Great Matter. Him and Anne had been elated to spend Christmastide together, far away from the women who had tormented them for years by refusing to admit that she lied about her virginity, but this year, there had been much cause for the entire court to celebrate. Anne had given birth to the children almost four months ago, and as they approached the winter month of January, the children seemed to be in perfect health, according to the reports from Lady Bryan.

Henry was pleased that the children and their households had seemed to settle into Hatfield well, the transition of residences not affecting their health in the slightest. Elizabeth and Eleanor's household had gotten off to a rough start, as they had not been able to find a suitable governess until the Lady Katherine Champernowne had been pointed out to them, but apparently the household had settled in quickly nontheless. He chuckled softly at the thought of the royal children having only two governesses, one for the boys and one for the girls. It had been Anne's idea, citing the fact that the children had all been born within minutes of each other and would likely spend every day together for years as reasons that they should not be assigned four governesses for each child, something he readily accepted. He knew the pain of being a second son, treated as not important compared to the other brother, and he would make sure that Edmund would never have to feel the pain as he did.

Suffolk had been at court for the first time in over two months, citing family affairs and his duties with tending to his manors as reasons that he would have to withdraw from the court. His wife and son were not with him, something that surprised him, as he had always seen them together for the Christmas celebrations. "Charles!" He called out to Suffolk, walking over to his dear friend with a smile on his face. He slung his arms over his shoulder and led him away from the person that he had been talking to, walking through the room with her. "Life at court has been dull without you," He continued, looking at his friend.

"And the matters of my estates have been dull without you, Your Majesty," Suffolk joked, the two of them sharing a hearty laugh. He hoped that Henry would not discover the real reason as to why he had not been at Court, withdrawing at his wife's request so that they would not have to deal with a court of Boleyns and their allies, the treacherous snakes that would stop at nothing to reach the top. It pained him to know that the common people had continued to accept Anne as the Queen and her children as the heirs, even in the face of Princess Mary being sent to Hatfield to wait on her children. Apparently, the people believed that the King's hand had been behind it more than the woman, now dubbed Saint Queen Anne by some hardcore religious reformers, as if the King would ever allow his daughter to be treated like that!

Mary had been the pearl of Henry's world, and knew that nothing would be able to stray him away from that if not for Anne Boleyn. His stomach twisted in disgust as he saw Anne dancing with her brother, the Duke of Buckingham, an enthusiastic yet determined look on her face. _She must be delighting in her win over Queen Catherine,_ He thought bitterly, his face hardening at the sight. _Did that woman have no shame?_

"The Queen is beautiful," Henry declared lovingly, his features lighting up as Suffolk watched her dance with her brother. He felt as if he was going to be sick. He had purposely put Lady Eleanor Luke in the King's way, ensuring that once he saw her, he would be determined to bed her and make her his mistress, allowing her to whisper in the King's ear about Anne and undermine her in his affections. It had hurt him to treat his friend like that, but Anne Boleyn's hold on him needed to be broken somehow, and as the King's closest friend, he thought that it would be best coming from him. But, he had underestimated his friend and the Boleyn woman again, as somehow, she had managed to convince him to say that she was worth the wait after the birth of children, something which made him horrified.

If Henry took no mistresses, Anne's hold on him would last forever..

"Your Majesty," Anne smiled, walking over to her husband and the Duke of Suffolk and taking Henry's hand. He kissed it once, and smiled at Suffolk, leading his dear wife away from his friend with ease. Henry spun her around once, to move with the dancers on the floor, and Anne let out a laugh that echoed through the room as he kissed her, much to the delight of Henry. _Anne's laugh was so beautiful, it sounded like an angel's singing.._

"Come, my Love. I have a gift for you," Anne led her husband over to a table, where the small golden fountain lay adorned with berries and other assorted items. She grinned in delight as her husband examined the fountain, turning to her in bewilderment.

"It's fantastic! Who made this?" He asked, shocked at how anyone could make something so beautiful. His Anne, his beloved Queen, was so creative for her gifts, a testament of her love for him as well as her good tastes.

"Master Holbein," She informed him, rubbing her fingers against Henry's hand as he continued to examine the fountain. Hopefully, he had caught the hints that were on the fountain, although she would much rather tell him herself.

"That man's a genius," Henry declared, his astonishment plain on his face as he turned to his wife and stroked her cheek with delight. "As are you, my beautiful Queen."

Their lips met each other's as Henry whispered the words, his heart fluttering as if he were a small schoolboy who had never kissed a woman before. Anne was such a mystery to him; the way that she made him feel unrivaled that of any other woman.

"I have another gift for you," Anne whispered to him, smiling at the look of confusion on Henry's face. It seemed that he hadn't caught onto the details upon the golden fountain, something that made her giggle, as Henry had always been great at interpreting things. "I am with child again."

Henry stared at her, feeling bewilderment and excitement at the news from his wife. Anne was pregnant again, the perfect gift for Christmastide, although the fact that she had gotten pregnant so soon after the birth of the quadruplets worried him some. What if Anne had complications during this birth? What if she did not carry the child to term?

The look on Anne's face was enough to drive the negative thoughts out of his mind, a smile creeping back on his face as she leaned over and gave him another kiss. He could worry about those fears at another time.

Sir William Brereton could almost not stand the sight of the King with the Concubine, who, if his ears served him well, had just confirmed herself to be carrying Satan's spawn once more. The shame and guilt over his failure to assassinate the false Queen racked over him, taunting him whenever he saw the heretical witch. "I could still do it, you know," He whispered to Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial Ambassador and his closest friend at the court. "I could find a way to poison her."

"No," Chapuys replied decisively, looking at the sight of King Henry with his whore with thinly veiled disgust. While his master, the Emperor had forced him to acknowledge the great slut as Queen in his stead so that the Empire might reconcile himself with England, he had no intention of doing so in private. "It would be blamed on my master – he doesn't need that right now. He has a war with the Turks to contend with."

Brereton was shocked at Chapuys's declaration, as he had been the one to proposition him to assassinate the Concubine in the first place! Had the Boleyn woman's dark arts bewitched him too? "Why should anyone ever know?" He asked, his mind's going over all of the possible ways he could poison the Concubine.

"Don't be stupid, Brereton," Chapuys all but snapped. "They would find you and torture you, and you would tell them everything."

"No, I wouldn't," Brereton huffed obstinately. "I would die a martyr's death." He remembered the words of His Holiness, words spoken to him in confidence: He must bring down Anne Boleyn, even at the risk of martyrdom.

"You've never seen a man being tortured," Chapuys hissed. "You do not act alone." He ordered, before turning and walking away from him.

Brereton continued to stare at the King and the heretic woman, long after Chapuys had walked away. He had not been certain of it before due to what Chapuys had told him, but there was no doubt about it now– he would have to murder the Boleyn harlot, and soon.

He did not have time to wait for the Emperor to finish war with the Turks, as England was falling deeper and deeper into heresy as the Concubine's hold over the King grew stronger. If the slut birthed another healthy brat, even a daughter, he feared that King Henry would be lost for good in her witchcraft and heresy, too far gone to be able to overcome any spell.

He stared at the false Queen once more as he began to formulate ideas, only scurrying away when the whore made eye contact with him. He would rest easy tonight, knowing that the Concubine would be dead soon and England would be free from her heretical ways, but for now, he needed to plan.

* * *

And, there you have it! Mary is at Hatfield, and while the common people of England are starting to accept Anne, Brereton is still going to be stirring up trouble... Plus, Anne is pregnant again! Hooray! :) Just as a reference, I use the 1507 birthdate for Anne, the one that I think they used in the show, so she is around 26 years old during in 1533.

And if any of you were wondering where Catherine of Aragon is, and why we haven't seen her point of view yet: don't worry, she'll be here soon! Also, Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More will begin to make more appearances.

Aside from that, I have two polls for you all: **Should Anne's baby that will be born in 1534 be a boy or a girl?** Depending on what it is, what should his/her name be? (I would prefer another letter besides E for the name, but I'm not picky. :D)

And, lastly, **what should happen to the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk?** I know that at some point, there will be some sort of (very) public confrontation with Anne, but what should their punishment be? It can be anywhere from permanent banishment from court, to Suffolk getting his title and lands taken away, to anything more extreme like time in the Tower or even death!

Please comment below what you think!

Don't forget that I love criticism. Please send it to me, as long as its constructive. Have a great day!

-Nan 👸


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is going to be pretty long in terms of plot! I'm trying to get onto the main events of this story, so if the chapter plots seems rushed, then that's why, and I'm sorry. :( I hope you all still like it, though!

A warning: _**SOME PARTS OF**_ ** _THIS CHAPTER INCLUDE ACTS OF VIOLENCE AND MENTIONS OF BLOOD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK._**

At the bottom of the chapter, there will be another two polls, so feel free to look at them for me? Thank you!

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

 _April 20th, 1534_

It was their first time going to Hatfield together.

The last time that Henry had went, Anne was feeling indisposed and did not ride with him. The last time that Anne had went, Henry had been busy with state affairs and was unable to take a break to visit with her. Needless to say, they were excited to visit their children together. They had decided to spend the night at Hatfield with their children in honor of their first visit together, and while Henry was also excited for the visit, he was fearful as well.

In the months that had passed since they handed their children into the care of their governesses and household at Hatfield, they had grown significantly, going from small newborns to crawling toddlers faster than Henry would have liked. The quadruplets were still in perfect health and seemed likely to thrive, something that had Henry proud and relieved, although he did not want his children to overwork themselves and do anything too quickly, especially not when Anne would be unable to visit them soon.

His beloved wife was beginning to show in her new pregnancy, which meant that she would not be able to travel as much as her stomach grew, taking plenty of care so that she would not have a miscarriage or a stillborn. Anne was back in Mistress Stafford's charge again, as Anne had praised the woman for taking such good care of her in her last pregnancy that they would be fools not to use her again. After all, it was thanks to Mistress Stafford that Anne had safely delivered of their four children. Henry had been so worried about Anne's health over her pregnancy, especially once the midwife had confirmed there were multiple babies in the womb, but luckily, he would not have to worry about that this time around, as a few days ago, Mistress Stafford confirmed that Anne was only pregnant with one child.

Henry was sure that Anne was relieved that she would likely not have to undergo another long and painful labor, as she had last time, although he also knew that she had been somewhat disappointed that she was not pregnant with multiples again. She had also promised that she would give him another son, and although he also wanted a third son, if he was honest with himself, he would be fine with another daughter as well. He had two sons already, which secured the succession, so while a third son was preferred, he would not fret if his wife gave him a third daughter instead.

His thought of Anne's pregnancy changed to him thinking about how technically, he already had three sons and three daughters. His oldest son, Henry Fitzroy, the Duke of Richmond and Somerset, had grown up so fast. He was a husband now, married to the Duke of Norfolk's daughter, and if the rumors were correct, he would have a child of his own around November. The thought of him being a grandfather was a chilling one, though it filled his heart with pride to know that the marriage between his son and Mary Howard was a happy one, and that they had been blessed with a child soon. Initially, he had been worried that they might fall sick if they consummated their marriage too soon, as the same had happened to his brother after his marriage to the Dowager Princess had been consummated. But Anne had managed to sway his mind against ordering the young couple from consummating their new marriage and insisted that naturally, God would work His will.

He thought of his other illegitimate child, his daughter, the Lady Mary. Even after being in the service of her half-siblings for four months, she had still not yielded and recognized that she was illegitimate, despite the fact that nearly everyone in the country had now accepted that his marriage to Anne was lawful and valld, while his false union with Catherine of Aragon was cursed in God's eyes. It hurt him to treat his daughter in such a way, because he still had love for her, but he would not yield and change his demands for her; not when his marriage and children with Anne were involved.

Thankfully, Anne had not been publicly scorned for Henry's decision to send Mary to Hatfield, as the entire world now knew that he would never dream to set aside Anne and their children, not when she had given him two sons and two daughters in a single birth. No one would be able to claim that Anne felt jealous or threatened by Henry's love for his daughter, since they all knew that her dreams of becoming Queen or uniting England with the Empire would never come to fruition now. He considered finding a husband for his oldest daughter, as it was only fair that his oldest illegitimate daughter got married now that his oldest illegitimate son had, but the challenge of finding a husband for her was hard. Years ago, Mary had been promised to the Dauphin of France, a match that had been welcomed by all, save her mother. Then, she had been bethrothed to her cousin, the Holy Roman Emperor. There would be no chance of that now, as he had discovered her illegitimacy and would never dream of marrying her to a King or an Emperor, a present one or a future one.

There were several candidates he had considered as a husband for Mary. Henry Howard, the Earl of Surrey, was Anne's cousin and one of the top candidates for the hand of his eldest daughter. Someday, he would be the Duke of Norfolk and one of the highest peers in the realm, so naturally, he was a promising choice for Mary. However, Thomas Cromwell had advised him that perhaps he should find Mary a foreign husband. He suggested a political marriage in the Protestant league to a man named William, who would be the future Duke of Cleves, as well as a man named Philip, the Duke of Bavaria. He was more partial to the Duke of Cleves, as he was the same as her and had two sisters close to her age, although he would not finalize anything until Mary submitted herself to him. He intended to speak with her while he and Anne were at Hatfield, to let her know that the faster that she recognized herself as illegitimate, the faster she could have a husband and a child of her own someday.

"I think that we should name our son George, for my brother," Anne said to him as they began their walk into Hatfield, her hands on her stomach as she spoke. While she had not felt their child move yet, she still enjoyed putting her hands on her belly, a symbol of protection for their unborn child.

Henry nodded and smiled. He fancied the name George, as it was not only England's saint, but the name of his brother-in-law, whom he had formed a close friendship with. The Duke of Buckingham was a fine gentleman, chivalrous and bold as a man ought to be. As of late, they had enjoyed hunting together, and while Anne was not able to go to each hunt, he knew that his brother-in-law would give her all of the details of it, now that his relationship with Anne had improved. It warmed his heart to know that the Boleyn siblings were all reunited again, as now that Margaret had died, all of his siblings were truly gone. He prayed that his children would never have to go through the pain of losing a sibling, especially so young.

"Your Majesties," Lady Bryan and the ladies surrounding her curtsied as soon as they entered the room.

"Mistress Bryan," Anne smiled, eager to see her kinsfolk and governess to her children. She then turned to the young woman next to Lady Bryan, who was the governess of her daughters. "And Mistress Champernowne."

"How are our children?" Henry asked, looking as the children were brought into the room by other ladies. They were so big now, he could scarcely believe that it had been almost eight months since they were born! Edmund squealed loudly at the sight of his parents, as if he recognized that he was being brought to them along with the rest of his siblings.

"Their Highnesses are a credit to Your Majesties in every way," Lady Bryan declared, her pride in her charges written plain on her face. "I have never seen any children as well-behaved as the Princess Royal and Duchess of Clarence and Hereford, and the Prince of Wales and Duke of York are the most curious boys I've ever met. They have already begun to crawl, and I believed that before next month is out, they may begin to attempt taking their first steps."

Anne felt a twinge of despair surge through her as Lady Bryan spoke. It would be a disappointment to her that she would likely not be with her children as they took their first steps, instead having other women witness it and send a report to her and her husband about the spectacle. Out of all of the hardships that she faced throughout her life, being separated from her children was by far the worst. When the children were first born, she had assumed that the children would stay at court with them until they were at least a few years old, as Catherine's daughter had not been given her own establishment right away, nor had Henry Fitzroy been given his own! It wasn't fair. Henry knew that it wasn't fair too, as they had talked about it before, but he assured her that it was the royal custom for children to be given their own households young, and Henry would not allow anyone to deny his children's claim to the throne.

Her thoughts went to the issue of the Catholic factions continuing to claim that her marriage to Henry was cursed and his so-called union with Catherine was valid, although their numbers had certainly dwindled since the birth of the quadruplets and her newest pregnancy so soon after the birth. Among their leaders was Bishop Fisher, who Henry had placed in the Tower for refusing to sign the Oath. Rumor had it that Pope Paul had intended to make the bishop a cardinal, to which Henry responded that he would have to wear the cardinal's hat upon his shoulders.

The Mad Nun was another leader of the Catholic force, although they would not have to deal with her anymore, as her execution was probably taking place as they spoke. Once an ally of the King, when he still believed that his marriage to Catherine of Aragon was valid, she had turned on him the moment that she realized that Henry intended to set his sister-in-law aside to make her his wife and Queen. It was a relief, in a way, as she and Henry had ultimately proved the Mad Nun wrong, but she did not want her to die. Anne felt sick to her stomach thinking about how fast Henry and those in favor could turn against someone, and she could not help think about what would have happened if she never gave Henry a son...

No. She would not let her thoughts go there. She was sure that Henry would love her, son or no son. While gaining a male heir was a large part of Henry's Great Matter, he also had genuine love for her, and they had been truly happy together during their courtship. Now that she had a son she was safe for life, whether the Catholics of England liked it or not. Edward would be King someday, so she was safe, but she knew that her husband would never set her aside for another woman, even if she had no son. Their love was a true, genuine one, and could not be matched by any carnal desire that Henry might feel for another woman of his court, whether he took a mistress or not.

"Excellent," Henry murmured, picking Eleanor up and kissing her cheek. "I trust that the Lady Mary has been behaving herself, as befitting her station?"

Although Henry had expected no other answer than no, it did not stop him from being surprised at Mistress Champernowne's report on his daughter. "No, Your Majesty," Mistress Champernowne hesitated, unsure as to what she should tell him and what not. "The Lady Mary refuses to recognize the Princes and Princesses as legitimate, and instead calls them the illegitimate children of Your Majesty and Queen Anne, who she calls your mistress. She claims the titles of Princess of Wales and Princess Royal, attempts to eat under the canopy of state, and has tried more than once to persuade other ladies to refer to her as Princess and sneak letters for her– not that any of them complied, Majesty," She added hastily, wanting to be sure her King did not assume they agreed.

Henry grimaced as she spoke, although he felt unfathomable rage when Anne informed him that on her last visit to Hatfield, Mary had called her his mistress to her _face_. Mary had no right to treat his wife like that! Anne was his precious jewel, his beloved wife, and he would not allow anyone to speak to her in such a manner, whether they were related to him or not.

"I wish to speak with my daughter at once," He declared sternly, following the lady who led him to Mary's room. The room that he had chosen for her was small, as befitting her new station, at least until she submitted to his will. He froze as he saw his daughter crouched over the bed on her knees, eyes closed as she clutched a rosary in her hands. _Catherine's rosary._

"His Majesty, the King," The lady announced, before scurrying off to rejoin Anne and the others.

Mary opened her eyes and stood up, putting her mother's rosary around her neck and turning to face the father that she had not spoken to in years. Had God answered her prayers? Had her father come to deliver her from his prison and reunite her with her mother? Was he to make them a family again, to banish his Concubine and make their children bastards?

"Your Majesty," Mary spoke quietly, curtseying as she looked up to her father.

"Mary," Her father replied plainly, as if speaking to her for the first time in years was a casual activity. "It has come to my attention that you still do not recognize Queen Anne."

Her father's words threatened to knock the air out of her lungs. Mary had to stop herself from doubling over in sickness. How could her father still be focusing on that whore? Had he not grown tired of her and their sham of a marriage yet? When would her father open his eyes and see that her mother was his true Queen, and she was his true heir? When would he see that he had been blessed by God all along, as He gave him a good woman as a wife and a pious girl for a daughter?

"No, Your Majesty. I cannot recognize another woman while my mother, the true Queen, remains alive." Mary said, holding her head high even as her father looked angry at her.

"Your mother is no Queen, Mary. She is my brother's wife, the Dowager Princess of Wales who lied about her virginity so that she might become the Queen of England." Henry explained, his tone still even as he spoke so that he would not lose his temper with his pearl. "As such, my union with her could not be valid, as exemplified by her inability to produce a healthy male heir. Whereas Queen Anne, your step-mother and my _true_ wife, produced two healthy male heirs in a single pregnancy."

"That whore is not your wife!" Mary protested indignantly, her eyes fiery with the same passion as her mother's. "My mother is your one true wife and Queen, and will remain so until God calls her to Him! His Holiness, Pope Paul decreed that your marriage to my mother was holy and valid in the eyes of God, and no Oath or Act through Parliament will be able to change that! Why will you not forsake the Concubine, Father? Why will you not unite yourself with your _real_ family?"

Henry glared at her, furious at her words against Anne. "The Queen and our children _are_ my real family. The decrees of the Bishop of Rome have no weight here. The Church of England does not answer to Rome. As you well know, Mary, as the King, I am the Supreme Head of the Church of England, and answer to no one but God. I have tried to be patient with you and your mother, Mary, as I understand the effects that the shock of discovering our marriage was false might take on you both, but I have been patient for long enough. If you and your mother do not bend to my will, I will be forced to take drastic measures against the both of you."

It hurt Henry to threaten his daughter. Mary was still his precious jewel, and if only she recognized that she was illegitimate, she would be restored to his good graces, able to marry and finally have a family of her own, which he knew that Mary would want above all else.

"Father, why are you letting the Boleyn witch control you?" Mary asked desperately, her voice rattling as she choked back sobs. "You're a good Catholic, not a Lutheran heretic like her! She's trying to lead England down the path of heresy with her and her ilk, so that she might risk the damnation of their souls, of _your_ soul! I know that she sold her soul to Satan so that she would have the Queen's Crown and healthy bastards, and I know that you know! You're stronger than her witchcrafts and dark arts, Father, I know that you can break free!"

Henry was startled at Mary's words. While he knew that Mary did not like Anne, he was upset to hear her address his wife as a witch and a heretic, even going so far as to claim that she sold her soul to Satan for the Crown. He did not care much to stop his daughter from being a practicing Catholic, but he had seen flares of radicalism in her that he had never seen before, not even from Catherine, Fisher, or More, all of whom were staunch Catholics. He was scared for her. Who was feeding his pearl these lies about Anne? Who had corrupted his pearl, planting seeds of fanaticism into her mind so that she might delude herself into thinking that his beloved wife was a witch?

"There is nothing to break free of, Mary." He said again, his voice going calm in order to mask how shaky it had become in the wake of her declarations. What he had to do next pained him, but if it was the only way to get through to her, then so be it. "And, in light of your words against my wife and heirs, I hereby decree that you will relinquish your honorary title of Lady, as well as your royal surname of Tudor. From henceforth, you will be known to all as Mary Fitzroy, and until you recognize Anne as my rightful Queen, you will not be honored or treated as my daughter in any way, shape, or form, save your surname. As such, Lady Bryan and the others will be able to punish you as they see fit, should you not comply." He spoke loudly, so that Anne and the other ladies that aren't nearby would be able to hear him, and although his heart broke to hear Mary dissolving into sobs as he spoke, he would not deter away from his course of action.

"You will no longer be allowed to say your prayers in private, and will attend Mass and services with the rest of the women in the chapel, in the English services. Give me your rosary, Mary." He ordered finally, holding his hand out expectantly.

Mary's hands shook as she removed the rosary from her neck, the last thing that she had left of her Catholic faith and her mother. How could her father let the Concubine control him like this? Her sobs were audible now, and she trembled as she handed the rosary to her father. She had not expected him to do all of this, stripping her of the false title that he had given her and her last name! How could Anne Boleyn have that much power over him? How had her dark arts prevailed once again? As her father left the room, not even bothering to say goodbye or console her, she sank to the floor in anguish, her sobs echoing throughout the otherwise silent room.

 _Why?_ She questioned over and over again in her head, letting all other thoughts leave her mind as she wailed. _Why had Anne Boleyn been allowed to win?_

* * *

 _May 19th, 1534: Day_

The news of Princess Mary's confrontation with the King and further disgrace spread through the court like a wildfire, becoming the topic of gossip as quickly as a moth was drawn to a flame. Brereton was disgusted by the news when he had first heard it: King Henry, who had once lauded the Princess Mary as his heir and precious pearl, had stripped her of everything, including her royal surname! Now, to the King and his harlot, she was just Mary Fitzroy, instead of Princess Mary, the true heir to the throne of England. And if the rumors were correct, it was also true that the King was considering marrying his trueborn daughter to a heretical German duke as opposed to a great Catholic prince!

Even worse, the King had declared that should anything happen to him, the Concubine is to act as Regent for his little bastards as they usurp the throne from the real heir. Brereton feared that the Boleyn witch's dark arts was growing stronger with each passing day, as her belly grew larger and the demon inside her continued to fester and grow, too. He shivered as he thought of what would happen if the Concubine birthed another bastard son. Surely King Henry would be lost to her witchcraft forever, condemning the soul of every English citizen to Hell for eternity as he continued to plunge England further into heresy to satisfy her unearthly desires.

The whore would not be allowed to carry her hellspawn to full term, not this time. He had been too frightened from nearly getting caught after his first failed attempt to assassinate her to try again while she still carried her first bastards, but he would not shrink from his duties this time. He would purge England of Anne Boleyn's influence once and for all, murdering the bitch and sending her demonic pups to Hell with her.

He would carry out his plan tonight, as the King invited his bastards to court for the celebrations in honor of the Concubine's first full-year as 'Queen,' and it would be the perfect opportunity to destroy both of his enemies in a single day. Luckily, Princess Mary was far away at Hatfield, where the Concubine's heretical witchcraft would not be able to reach her, keeping her safe from the harm of Anne Boleyn once and for all.

After realizing that the Emperor's wars with the Turks would not be over anytime soon, Chapuys had given his blessing for it, unaware that Brereton had been plotting on how to murder the whore since their talk on Christmas. He shut his eyes as he remembered the conversation they shared, the scenario playing over and over again in his head.

 _"Brereton, my friend," Chapuys greeted him urgently, practically pulling him into a private area so that they could speak without being heard. "I have urgent news about the Princess and the Queen."_

 _"What is it?" Brereton asked, eager for any news about Queen Catherine and Princess Mary. The news of Princess Mary's further demotion to plain Mary Fitzroy had startled him, and although he had no news of her since then, he was sure that it would be more melancholy than before. Most things were melancholy, now that Anne Boleyn had ruined England._

 _Chapuys's lip curled into a frown. "It seems that the King has been considering having the Queen and the Princess charged with high treason, as they refuse to yield and relinquish the titles given to them by God. I have tried to convince the Princess that she must yield to her father's will, but alas, she refuses to believe that he will have her and the Queen charged with such a high-level crime."_

 _Brereton glared. "The work of the Boleyn slut, no doubt." He said bitterly, clenching his fists as he thought of Anne Boleyn. If she had not been charged by Satan to bring heresy to England from the licentious French court, Queen Cathetine and Princess Mary would still be loved by the King and not in exile, forgotten and abandoned by the man who once promised to serve as his wife's Sir Loyal Heart and his daughter's noble King. If not for Anne Boleyn, the King would still be a good Christian man and a true Defender of the Faith, not a man bordering on the obscenities of Lurheran heresy._

 _When Anne Boleyn encouraged the King to read a book by William Tyndale, a man notorious for being a heretic, she had opened the gates of Hell for them all, changing the man who had once been the most Christian Prince of Europe into a tyrant who would sooner let his own wife and trueborn daughter be exiled and humiliated than give up his Concubine and their bastards. It was wrong!_

 _"Alas, my friend, I must ask of your help again." Chapuys lowered his voice more as a man walked past him. "We must be rid of the Concubine if we ever hope to see Princess Mary and Queen Catherine restored to the good graces of King Henry, as well as if we hope to see England restored to the true faith."_

 _As Brereton nodded, Chapuys continued to speak. "My contacts in Rome have been granted an audience with the Pope, and they tell me that His Holiness still wishes for you to carry out the task that he has charged you with, even at the risk of martyrdom." He spoke confidently, a smile on his face as he saw the look of determination on Brereton's face. It warmed Chapuys's heart to know that there were still true Catholics at court, as in the wake of Anne Boleyn's 'victory,' it seemed to be swarmed with Lutheran rats. "The Queen, the Princess, and my master also approve of your plan." While he was not lying about his master's approval of his plan, he needed Brereton to believe that the Princess and the Queen also approved, so that he would not try and back down from the Holy task as he had last time._

 _"I will do whatever I need to succeed." Brereton vowed, holding his head high as he took in the words that his friend spoke. "I will not let them down."_

As the false Queen passed the courtiers on her way to the King's chambers, Brereton could not help but picture the sight that he would surely see tonight: the harlot and her devil children dead. It was a beautiful sight, and he thought of his plan over and over again. Tonight, Anne Boleyn and her spawn would be completely and utterly destroyed.

Tonight, everything would be back to normal again.

* * *

 _May 19th, 1534: Night_

Seeing the quadruplets again was a delight. Over the past month, Anne's stomach had grown a good portion, and while the child in her stomach kicked nearly everyday, she could not help but think about her four young children, far away at Hatfield and unable to see her everyday, so seeing them again for the first time in over a month was a relief to her. Thank God that Henry agreed with her that the children should be allowed to come to court until the middle of June, in honor of her one year anniversary as Queen. She wished that she could have persuaded him to let them stay at court until after their next child was born, but he was firm when he said that they would only stay until the middle of June.

The quadruplets continued to make progress, thankfully. According to Lady Bryan and Mistress Champernowne, Edmund and Elizabeth had attempted to take their first steps while the preparations for their visit to court was taking place, and Eleanor could now stand up on her own with no assistance. Edward, on the other hand, was attempting to speak, something that she had witnessed herself. As she played with him and Elizabeth, bouncing them up and down while Henry delighted in playing with Edmund and Eleanor, Edward had called her Mama!

Her heart had soared when she heard him speak that word, that magic word, as if he had just cured every pregnancy ailment that plagued her and destroyed all disease, hatred, and intolerance in the world. Henry was pleased, too, although he had joked about charging Edward with treason for not having Papa as his first word. She had giggled when he joked about it, although in truth, it raised alarm in her. Anne knew that Henry would never dream of harming her and their children that way, but she still could not help but think that something bad was going to happen to their children.

Despite Henry's assurances that Lady Mary would never attempt to harm the quadruplets, Anne still did not believe him entirely, especially now that Henry had decreed she would no longer be entitled to the honorary title of Lady, nor would she be allowed to style herself as a Tudor, instead being downgraded to plain Mary Fitzroy. Henry had even taken away her rosary, the one thing that she had left from her mother, and declared that she would attend the Anglican services with the other servants at Hatfield.

She didn't agree with him taking all of that away, no matter what Mary had said about her. She had heard her call her a Lutheran heretic, and a witch and a Concubine, but through all of that, Anne still did not feel right about Henry stripping his daughter of everything she had left. While Henry had confided in her that he was scared Mary was showing signs of fanaticism, it still felt wrong to her, and she was scared that Mary would retaliate against _her_ instead of Henry. There was no doubt in her mind that if she was pushed to the point of no return, Mary would attempt to snuff out the one thing that Anne treasured above all, even more than Henry– their children. No matter how much she tried to ignore the feeling, it would not go away, and that filled her with dread.

However, she would rest easily tonight knowing that the children were safe there, tucked into the comfort of the royal nursery. She herself had begun to rest some, although her stomach pains and nausea had been growing more peristent, keeping her awake.

It was different than the stomach pains that she normally had, something she found odd. Nothing like this had happened last pregnancy...

Suddenly, she began to cough violently, vomit leaving her mouth and blood dripping down her nose and onto her as the fit continued. "Madge," She called for her cousin and lady-in-waiting, who instantly rushed to her side along with Nan Saville and her cousins the Duchess of Richmond and Lady Kitty Howard, who had also become her ward.

"Your Majesty!" Kitty Howard exclaimed as she watched Queen Anne, staring in horror at the mix of blood and vomit covering the woman. Anne reached through her skirts and watched in shock as blood dripped on her, screaming _Oh God!_ multiple times and sobbing.

"Get a physician!" Madge Shelton called out to the ladies-in-waiting that were now awake and had rushed to see the spectacle happening near the Queen's bed.

"And someone alert the King!" Mary Fitzroy, the Duchess of Richmond, cried out through the sobs that formed in her throat, terrified at the state that her beloved cousin had found herself.

As commotion rushed around Anne, she could not help but stare at the blood in her hands that came from her skirts, sobbing as she looked towards the ceiling, hoping that God could see her. _Please, don't take my child from me._ She prayed, her sobs and retching noises filling the air. _Please._

* * *

The Concubine had been successfully poisoned.

Soon after the King had managed to fall asleep, one of the whore's lady-in-waiting rushed into King Henry's chambers, bearing a message about the Concubine. While the poison had acted quicker than he expected, it was perfect for Brereton, as the commotion of the King's chambers had allowed him to slip away from the rooms undetected and make his way to the royal nursery.

The witch and the hellspawn in her womb would be dead soon, and when they got to Hell, they would be greeted with the corpses of her other demonic bastards.

Brereton managed to get through the guards of the royal nursery easily, as he paid off a chef in the kitchens to slip something into their drinks to make them sleep. It would not kill them, but it would allow to sleep long enough so that he would be able to murder the bitch's pups and then go back to King Henry's chambers as if nothing happened. The nursery was quiet and peaceful as he entered, stepping lightly so that the ladies would not wake up at the sounds of his footsteps. He made his way into the area where the bastards were being held, somewhat shocked to find it empty. Either way, it made his job easier.

Tension crept into the air as he made his way to the four cribs, glaring over each and everyone of the bastards as he circled around them. While it was easy to identify the boys from the girls, telling the boys apart was difficult. He had decided that he would kill the oldest first, as he was Princess Mary's prime rival as the oldest son and so-called heir to her throne. Then, he would kill the youngest son and the two daughters, finally bringing a stop to Anne Boleyn's madness.

He unsheathed his sword and loomed over the crib furthest to the right that held one of the boys, and had just moved to strike the child with his dagger when the demon in the furthest crib to the left began stirring and whining. Brereton growled; was Anne Boleyn using her dark arts to make her bastards wail in an attempt to stop his plan? He would not allow it. He stepped heavily towards the crib on the left and wringed his hands around the neck of the hellspawn, strangling it wildly.

The brat began to scream and sob loudly in pain and fear, choking against the force of his hands as he continued choking it in a wild frenzy. But as the eyes of the brat began to close, as if the life was leaving it, he felt a large force hit him over the head, which made him release his hands and sent him tumbling down to the floor.

The last thing that Brereton saw before his eyes closed and fell unconscious was the unyielding glare of a shaking George Boleyn.

* * *

 _May 20th, 1534_

"The Queen has not miscarried, Your Majesty."

While the words that Doctor Butts spoke sounded like music to Henry's ears, the sweet melody of them soon turned into harsh, violent music as he recounted the events of last night. William Brereton, a groom that he had favored and lived close to for years, had poisoned his beloved wife and been caught attempting to strangle their son, Prince Edmund, in the royal nursery by George Boleyn, the Duke of Buckingham. The thought of it were enough to drive Henry to retch, although for the sake of decency, he managed to push it back through his throat.

"Thank God," He managed weakly. "And will she overcome Brereton's poison?"

Doctor Butts nodded. "Her Majesty has made excellent progress since last night, as well as this morning, all thanks to Mistress Stafford. We believe that in a matter of days, a week at the latest, she will be back to her regular health, although we advise Your Majesties to take.. precautions."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "What precautions?"

Doctor Butts paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, although he soon regained his composure. "Her Majesty will need to go on a strict diet, which will be supervised by Mistress Stafford with the help of Her Majesty's ladies. In addition, Her Majesty should rest earlier in the days now, although she will not have to go into her confinement just yet. Furthermore, after Her Majesty has safely delivered of her child, we advise Your Majesty that she should not conceive again so quickly, for risk of damaging her womb. You may still lay with her carnally, but before ejactulation, Your Majesty will have to.." He stopped and blushed, looking to Henry's eyes to make sure that he took in what he was saying.

"I understand." Henry nodded, a frown settling on his face. "That is all, Doctor Butts. You should go attend Her Majesty."

As Doctor Butts nodded and scurried from the room, Henry sighed and sat himself down on one of his chairs, swallowing the wine in the goblet he held. He poured it himself; after Brereton, how would he be able to trust his grooms ever again? Of course, he would have to ask for his grooms eventually, as there were tasks too demeaning for a King to perform himself, but for now, he would be fine.

He could not stop thinking about the previous night. If Brereton had succeeded, he would have lost Anne, their unborn child, and Edmund– and surely the other quadruplets. He would have lost everything.

How would Anne ever feel safe again?

How would _he_ ever feel safe again?

Cromwell, who had been created Earl of Essex in honor of the quadruplets's birth, entered the room, followed by the dukes of Buckingham, Wiltshire, and Suffolk. The four men had just come back from interrogating the whoreson Brereton in the Tower, where Henry declared that the man be tortured into sharing his information, as well as whether or not he had accomplices, despite his status as a gentleman.

No mercy would be spared for the man who attempted to take everything away from him.

"Well?" Henry demanded, glaring at Cromwell, Wiltshire, and Suffolk. He would not let George become the target of his anger; as if it wasn't for him, he would have lost his beloved children. "What did Brereton say?"

"He confessed to the despicable acts that conspired last night, although thanks to our Grace, the Duke of Buckingham, there was never a question of his innocence." Wiltshire spoke up, his pride in his son beaming on his face. "In addition, he confessed to the assassination attempt upon Her Majesty, your Beloved Queen Anne, on the day of her coronation."

"Indeed," Cromwell spoke up, confirming Wiltshire's words. "Your Majesty, it seems that William Brereton is a delusional madman, as he consistently called Queen Anne your Concubine, a witch, and a heretic as we interrogated him, even going as far as saying that she was the messenger of Satan who had plunged England into an age of heresy and witchcraft. But, alas, it wasn't until he was on the rack that he began to share his.. accomplices..."

Henry paused for a moment and blinked, worry settling as Cromwell trailed off. "Who?" He mumbled, as if he did not want to know.

Suffolk swallowed roughly, attempting to push down the lump that gathered in his throat. "The Imperial ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, was one of them. Emperor Charles, another. And.." He could not bring himself to name the others, as he could not believe them himself.

Wiltshire seized the opportunity as Suffolk hesitated to finish the list of Brereton's self-proclaimed accomplices. "His Holiness, Pope Paul, the Dowager Princess of Wales, and Mary Fitzroy, Majesty– your _bastard_ daughter."

Silence hung in the air between the five men. The Dukes and the Earl looked between each other as the King's facial expression went unreadable, each of them having a different look on their face; Cromwell was indifferent, Wiltshire excited, Suffolk worried, and Buckingham shocked. Finally, Henry looked up at the four men in front of him, and, in the lowest voice imaginable, hissed a single phrase.

"I want Catherine and my daughter thrown in the Tower– _now_."

* * *

.. In case you guys couldn't tell, I love George Boleyn. The Tudors did him really dirty by making him sexually assault Jane Parker and make him an overall tool. Luckily, you won't see any of that here! Also, Doctor Butts telling Henry to pull out while having sex with Anne was my favorite part of this chapter.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I know that it was very dramatic, and probably rushed in a lot of ways. Hopefully, I didn't scare anyone too badly with Anne's near-miscarriage and Brereton poisoning her. :( I probably wasn't accurate in regards to how poisoning went down! Sorry about that.

A curious thing about this chapter; as I wrote it, I rewatched Seasons Three and Four of Tudors, and while I watched, I noticed something. Whenever Mary made fanatical comments in regards to the Reformation and Lutheranism, Chapuys seemed extremely concerned about her, while in Season Two, he seemed to have the same mindset as her! I thought it was really weird, and honestly pretty funny, as he was the one who planted the seeds of fanaticism into her. I guess he didn't expect to see a tree grow that quickly! Lol.

Next chapter has a lot of things, but most importantly, Catherine of Aragon! We're going to see the fallout of Brereton's "confession" next chapter.. and it won't be pretty.

Here are the two polls for this chapter:

1\. **What role should Anne of Cleves and Katheryn Parr play in the story?** I want to incorporate all of the six wives at some point. Anne is, of course, one of the main characters, and I already have a few plotlines for Catherine of Aragon, Katherine Howard, and Jane Seymour down, now what about AoC and Katheryn Parr?

2\. **Who should Mary get married to? Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, Duke Philip of Bavaria, or William, future Duke of Cleves? Or, maybe even someone else..?** I'm open to any suggestions for a husband for Mary, as long as it isn't Philip II of Spain. He was terrible to her!

As always, I love criticism.


	5. Chapter 5

First of all, I would like to apologize for how long it took for this chapter to be released. The past few months have been very difficult for me– there were two deaths in the family, I escaped from an abusive relationship, I was ill quite a few times, etc. But now I'm back, and hopefully it won't take so long for another update! I just hope that it hasn't been so long that people have lost interest.

Anyways, now we can proceed on with the story. William Brereton has been arrested, yet another attempt on the lives of Anne and the Tudor children has occurred, and it seems that Brereton has named some supposed 'accomplices' of his. But how will the 'accomplices,' as well as those in the Court, countryside, and other European countries, react to Henry's outrage?

This will be a very, _very_ long chapter, and will cover months of plot. As an apology for taking so long, I've combined the original chapter length with the next chapter, so that it will just be one long chapter. Enjoy!

Note: For this chapter, as it will have many different point of views that sometime takes place on the same day/same time in different places, I will include the location for each section as well as the date!

* * *

 _May 27th,_ _1534_

 _Greenwich Palace_

"His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk." Henry's groom announced as Suffolk walked into the room, his gaze slightly down as he entered. It was not unusual for Suffolk to do this when he sensed that Henry was in a bad mood, something that Henry had come to notice over the course of their long friendship, but he couldn't lie to himself– it was annoying.

"Charles," Henry said curtly, giving his friend a false courteous smile as he motioned for the groom to leave the pair alone. "I trust that you are well."

Suffolk looked up as Henry spoke, although he stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Ever since the latest attempt on Anne Boleyn's life, as well as that of her children, the entire Court had been on its toes. While Anne Boleyn was fine, and was said to have recovered from William Brereton's poison, it was rumored that the younger son, Prince Edmund, had not yet fully recovered from being strangled by Brereton.

Although he hated Anne Boleyn as well as the fact that she had won, and although he truly would not care if she died, Suffolk couldn't help but feel sorry for her in these moments. He knew what it was like to lose a child, as his only child, Lord Henry Brandon, had died in March, leaving him and Catherine devastated, so he knew how Anne Boleyn must feel now, knowing how close she had come to losing her children.

"I have been better, Your Majesty," Suffolk admitted after a while, a sigh escaping from his lips as he spoke. "The Duchess and I are still mourning the loss of my son."

Henry frowned. "I am sorry to hear that." The words were genuine– although he had only seen his nephew a few times in his short life, it had hurt him to hear of Henry Brandon's death. With the young boy now dead, all of his living reminders of Margaret were gone, save himself. In times like this, times where he thought of his sister and her death, it reminded him how important it was that his siblings be raised as loving and close to each other– one day, him and Anne would be gone, and although he's prayed that that time won't come for many years, he knew that it was important to foster close sibling relationships early. After all, it would pain him to know that any of his beloved children hated each other.

He shook the thought out of his head and focused his attention back on Suffolk. "I wanted to talk with you about the Dowager Princess, and my daughter, Mary Fitzroy." Henry said finally, bringing his mind back to the original reason why he had summoned Suffolk to him.

Suffolk looked up at the King again, bewilderment and curiosity written all over his face. "Your Majesty?" He questioned in confusion. Why would the King want to talk about his disgraced wife and daughter now? They were in the Tower of London now, far worse off than they had been in their initial banishments at the More and Hatfield, and the people of England had all but turned on the pair: even now, he was sure that peasants outside the Palace were jeering and calling Catherine of Aragon a whore and a liar, all in order to put Anne Boleyn on a pedestal.

He had been with Thomas Cromwell when he went to the More to arrest Catherine of Aragon, and had likewise been with Thomas Boleyn when he went to Hatfield to arrest Princess Mary, all at the King's insistence. He could still picture Princess Mary's sobs and hysterical insistances that she had never tried to harm her siblings, as well as Queen Catherine's disbelief and insistence that there must be some mistake, and that was enough to drive him to retch. Even worse, Henry had ordered him to interrogate the pair, a task that he admittedly could not bring himself to do yet.

It pained Suffolk to know that Henry, who had once been Queen Catherine's Sir Loyal Heart and the light of Princess Mary's life, would do something so vile to her because of Anne Boleyn. Him and Henry both knew that Queen Catherine was much too pious to ever attempt to murder anyone, much less a pregnant woman and small infants, so why was Henry pretending otherwise for a slut like Anne Boleyn?

"It has come to my attention that you and your men have not questioned them yet, despite the fact that I ordered you to." Henry stated, his voice cool and his face hardening.

"Your Majesty, I.."

"Just because Catherine is my sister-in-law and Mary is my daughter does not mean that they can't be questioned, especially when they were implicated in the attempted murder of my wife and children!" Henry yelled suddenly, slamming his fists down on the table in front of him. "Anne, my precious Queen, could have died! Our unborn child could have died before it had the chance to draw its first breath! Edmund, my _son_ , my youngest boy, is fighting for his life as we speak because that whore Catherine and our fanatical bitch of a daughter wanted to see them dead!"

He raised the nearby goblet and threw it against the wall in anger, getting a slight satisfaction at Suffolk's flinch. "There will be so special privileges for them, do you understand?" He asked, his voice urgent and laced with thinly veiled rage.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Suffolk replied.

Henry slowly sat down in the chair that he was standing next to and looked back up at Suffolk again with a glare. "You don't believe them to be guilty, do you?" He questioned, clenching his fist slightly as he asked the question. Even though he asked the question, he knew that Suffolk didn't believe Catherine and Mary to be guilty, and he also knew that Suffolk was no supporter of Anne and their children, despite acting contrary to the fact. He was not stupid, nor was he naïve– he knew that Suffolk blamed all of Catherine and Mary's problems on Anne, which was something that pained him, and deep down he knew that Suffolk likely didn't believe Mary to be a bastard, either.

However, despite all of this, he knew that he could not get rid of him. Suffolk was his friend, his closest friend, and had been that since their childhood; if he banished him from Court or took away his titles now, then people of the Court would, of course, blame Anne for it. Therefore, he would have to find other ways of dealing with him, until such a time came where he had no choice but to take real action against him.

"If Your Majesty believes them to be guilty, then I trust Your Majesty's judgement." Suffolk answered obediently, ignoring the way that Henry's teeth grinded at his answer.

"That isn't what I asked." Henry cut in, his glare becoming more tense as he spoke. "I asked if _you_ believe that they're guilty. My judgement doesn't matter in this instance."

The silence stretched on for what felt like hours before Suffolk finally answered. "No, Your Majesty."

It was scarcely above a whisper, but despite that, Suffolk knew that Henry had heard him. He fully braced himself for Henry's wrath, although it never came, as Henry simply leaned back in his chair and stared at him for what, again, felt like hours.

"Since you can't bring it upon yourself to question the Dowager Princess and my daughter, I will find another man to do it." Henry declared. "You will send one of your men to the continent to retrieve Sir Francis Bryan– he is a cousin of Queen Anne, and a very capable interrogator. Tell him that I wish for him to return to Court, and, upon his arrival, he shall undertake the task of interrogating the Dowager Princess and her bastard. Since you believe them to not be traitors, I will give them the chance to prove it, through Sir Francis."

Suffolk was mortified. Not only was Henry going to send a man that neither Queen Catherine nor Princess Mary knew to interrogate them, but the man in question would be a cousin of Anne! Surely the Boleyn bitch herself was behind this. "But, Your Majesty.."

"You are dismissed, Charles."

There was nothing more that he could say or do, as the King's word was final, and he could not ignore the tone of dismissal in his voice. "I will do as Your Majesty commands," Suffolk said finally, bowing and retreating from the King's chambers as fast as possible.

What had he just done?

* * *

 _June 5th, 1534_

 _Château de Fontainebleau, France_

"There was an attempt on the life of Anne Boleyn," Queen Marguerite of Navarre reported, gently setting the piece of parchment with the news from France's ambassador down on the table in front of her and looking up towards her beloved brother. "Another one, according to the ambasaador."

François, King of France, frowned at this news, and leaned back against the chair that he was sitting in. As the closest neighboring country to England aside from Scotland, it was France that received news of the English Court's latest drama first, unless something should happen that would delay the arrival of news from the French ambassador to England. As such, he was always the first to extend congratulations, condolences, and the like to his English counterpart, and while he had no intention of shrinking from this self-proclaimed duty of his, the news that he received was especially shocking.

It was no secret that Anne Boleyn used to be unpopular among the English people before she birthed quadruplets to King Henry the previous year, but François had all but assumed that her unpopularity had faded away after the birth of two healthy sons.

"Give that here," François reached over to grab the piece of parchment off of the table and began to scan the pages, his eyes widening in disbelief as he read what was written in the ambassador's report.

The assassin in question– some groom to King Henry named William Brereton– had implicated Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador to England, Emperor Charles himself, and even the Pope in the plot to murder Anne! And, in addition to them, Catherine of Aragon and Henry's daughter, Mary Fitzroy, had also been implicated! Oh, what a scandal this was sure to turn into!

"Do you think all of this is true?" François questioned Marguerite, raising an eyebrow in amusement at his sister as he set the ambassador's report back down at the table and let out a slight chuckle.

"That Catherine of Aragon and Mary Fitzroy were involved? No," Marguerite replied honestly, a soft hum in her voice as she sat in a chair near her brother's. "However, I don't think it far-fetched that the Emperor and his ambassador would align with Pope Paul to murder Anne Boleyn; the Emperor would wish to see his aunt restored and his cousin as England's future Queen, and I believe that Pope Paul would resort to such drastic measures if he believed he was stopping 'heresy' from spreading in England." She made a point to stress her disbelief of the heresy title, as she sympathized heavily with Reformers and even shared some of their ideals herself in alignment with her Catholic faith, but François simply rolled his eyes jokingly and let out another chuckle.

"Ah, so you doubt the Pope?" He joked, before looking back down at the paper. "I agree with you– I think that Catherine and Mary are innocent, as well, but I don't think the same can be said about His Holiness and Emperor Charles."

"What will you do?" Marguerite asked, curious about what her brother's solution to the problem at hand would be. While she knew that François was a Catholic– a very devout one, in fact– she also knew that her brother was attempting to pursue another alliance with King Henry, and that anything less than a condemnation of Pope Paul and Charles would put him in a dangerous situation. Personally, she supported François condemning the men behind the attempt on Anne Boleyn's life, as she was always fond of the Boleyn girl during her time in France, but she knew that she and François could not afford to place their personal feelings above the interests of France.

François pondered the question for a moment, before finally answering. "I will reach out to King Henry and inform him that I utterly condemn the attempt on the life of his wife, Queen Anne, and that of their children. And then, I shall condemn His Holiness and Emperor Charles for endorsing the attempt– while still stressing that I am, and always will be, a devout Catholic." François added hastily. "Furthermore, I will withdraw the French ambassador to Spain– as I am sure King Henry plans to declare war– and send a marriage proposal to King Henry regarding his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, and my son, the Duke of Angoulême."

Marguerite smiled at her brother's declaration. "I think that it is a brilliant plan, François," She reassured him. "The King and Queen of England will be most grateful for allyship, I am sure of it."

"I hope that you're right, Marguerite." François sighed. "Henry can be a fickle man sometimes."

That was a fundemental fact, and Marguerite could not deny that. However, she could not help but hope that the King of England's fickleness would not affect France, which she valued above all else, or the life of Anne Boleyn, who she still considered as a close and personal friend.

God knows that Henry had affected the lives of so many others already.

* * *

 _June 25th, 1534_

 _Rome, Italy_

William Brereton named him.

At first, Pope Paul could not believe that Brereton would do something so reckless and careless, not when he knew that the fate of Christiandom laid in his hands because of his mission to murder the Concubine, Anne Boleyn. However, when Campeggio brought him the news of Brereton's arrest, torture, and subsequent confession, he knew that he had no choice but to accept the inevitable: England would be lost to heresy forever.

There was no chance that King Henry would ever bring England back to Catholicism now, not when he himself had been named as a conspirator in the assassination plot against the so-called Queen Anne, as well as her infant brats. And, as his bastard son would likely become the ruler of the country someday due to Henry's inability to accept that Anne Boleyn was a whore, he would never reinstate Catholicism when he learned that a Pope had supported the assassination attempt against his mother. Even Princess Mary, who was one of the most devout Catholics in the country, would not be able to express support for him now without being suspected of being a traitor. And, if she ever became Queen because of some miracle or another, she would also never be able to bring the nation back to Catholicism without invoking uprisings in the English countryside and losing the love of her people.

Oh, he was sure that the Lutheran heretics were enjoying this. Already, he had news that the heretics were spreading the news of the Boleyn scandal around Europe, publishing pamphlets and the like with information surrounding his involvement in thr attempted assassination attempt as well as that of the Holy Roman Emperor, something that likely filled the heretical German Dukes and Princes with delight, as well as those Turks.

Not to mention that the French King, Francis, condemned him as well, although he stated that he was still a devout Catholic and recognized him as God's representative on Earth. King Francis had also extended condolences to the nation and offered up an alliance between the countries against Spain, which he guessed that King Henry had eagerly endorsed. And, while there had been no official response from Spain yet over the Emperor's implication as well as the Spanish ambassador, he was sure that Emperor Charles was eager to get back on King Henry's good side.

The scandal that was resulting from this was almost too much to bear. He would have to do something to appease King Henry, and as much as it hurt him to do so, he knew that he had no choice.

There would be no official response from him. Instead, three Papal Bulls would be issued: the first of which would reverse the decision that he made regarding King Henry's Great Matter, stating that the Curia had made a mistake in the investigation into Henry's Matter and that his marriage to Catherine of Aragon was, in fact, unlawful. Therefore, his marriage to Anne Boleyn would be declared valid and its issue legitimate, while Princess Mary would be regarded as nothing but a bastard. The second of which would condemn and excommunicate William Brereton and Eustace Chapuys, denouncing the two as madmen who sought to bring England to ruin. The third and final Bull would remove the threat of excommunication from King Henry and his advisors, ensuring that Henry would no longer have to live with the threat of excommunication hanging over his head, whether he brought England back to the Church or not.

It pained him to do so, but it had to be done. It was the best that he could do under the circumstances.

England would be lost forever now, and it was all William Brereton's fault, but despite the fact that he helped bring ruin to the prestige of the Church through his foolishness and recklessness, he could not help but pray for the poor man's soul.

* * *

 _July 1st, 1534_

 _The Tower of London_

Catherine of Aragon, the true Queen of England and true wife of King Henry, was elated when she found out that her husband had summoned her to London– at least, until she found out _why_ she was being summoned. When the guards and Henry's men had first arrived for her, she had optimistically assumed that they were there to escort her back into the city in triumph, to return her to the side of the husband who had recently been so cruel to her. But no, she was to be escorted to the Tower of London as a traitor instead of a Queen, an accomplice to attempted murder instead of the daughter of two great monarchs and the aunt of another. Henry had not even been decent enough to grant her a carriage to escort her back to London, instead having her ride in the same open cart that all traitors travelled in.

She was horrified to learn what all of the charges against her were, as well as the identities of her supposed accomplices. William Brereton, one of her husband's grooms, had confessed to attempting to assassinate Anne Boleyn on two separate occasions, once while she was pregnant with the quadruplets that had been of such damage to her and her daughter, and once not even two months ago. He had also been caught attempting to murder one of the sons that Anne Boleyn had given her husband, the youngest boy named Edmund, by Anne's brother, George! Surely, there was no question of his guilt, as he had been caught in the act, but the accomplices made her feel even worse about the ordeal– Chapuys, who had once been a true friend to her, had been named, as had her nephew Charles, the Holy Roman Emperor. But above all, her daughter Mary had been named, and so had His Holiness, the Pope! At first, she had been indignant towards the Pope's supposed involvement in the whole affair, but alas, Master Kingston had informed her that there was apparently overwhelming amounts of evidence condemning Chapuys, her nephew, and the Pope in the attempts on the lives of Anne and her children. It was disgusting.

Thankfully, there was supposedly no evidence that condemned her and Mary yet, so she would be able to rest easily as long as herself and her daughter were safe. And her room in the Tower was lodged nicely, at least; she heard from Master Kingston's wife that Chapuys had not been afforded such a luxury, being tossed in a part of the Tower that was so dirty that it filled to the brink with rats and other vermin. She was given good food, or at least as good as the food was able to get, and she was given a Catholic priest for her prayers. Still, she could not believe the charges that were presented to her. Surely her husband knew that she would never try and hurt an innocent child, even if it was the child of Anne Boleyn. Catherine herself knew the pain of losing a child, as she had suffered stillborns and miscarriages aplenty, and a few of her children had been short-lived, too! She would never wish that on any mother, even if it was her long-time rival. It was all wrong.

The jailor opened the door that led into her room, and a man that she had never seen before entered the room, along with the rumored heretic Thomas Cromwell. He looked young, or at least younger than she remembered Henry to be, with nice dark hair and an eyepatch over one of his eyes. "Dowager Princess Katherine," The unknown man greeted her. She tried to hide her disdain at the false title given to her, but even she knew that if she attempted to claim the title of Queen while still lodged in the Tower, she would earn herself a one-way ticket to the block. "I am Sir Francis Bryan, and it is His Majesty, King Henry's pleasure that I question you about your parts in the grievous attacks on Her Majesty, Queen Anne, and the Princes and Princesses of England." He spoke sternly and smiled smugly, as if he had never seen a more entertaining sight in his life. Cromwell, who was standing next to him, looked emotionless, although Catherine could still see the same look of pity in his eyes that she had seen in the Duke of Suffolk the last time she had seen him, back when he was helping to escort her to the Tower.

"Of course," Catherine nodded, her right hand moving to circle on the small cross that hung around her neck. Thankfully, she had been allowed to keep her cross, as she heard from Master Kingston's wife that Henry had not allowed the same of Brereton, Chapuys, or Mary. She shivered at the thought of her precious daughter being locked in the Tower. Hopefully, she was not suffering too much, and had been allowed to talk honestly with the two men, if she had even spoken to them yet.

"The testimony of William Brereton, the assassin in question, states that you were not only aware of his plans to murder the Queen and her children, but that you encouraged the acts in the hopes of being restored to your once high office– he also states that Ambassador Eustace Chapuys communicated with you about his plans. Do you deny it?" Sir Francis asked, crossing his arms.

Catherine nodded her head. "I must confess that I do not even know who William Brereton is, my Lord," She said honestly, her face blank and betraying no emotion. "Alas, I have not been able to receive any visitors at my home, the More, nor have I been able to send or receive letters."

Sir Francis growled. "Your Highness should know that we have evidence that you have, in fact, sent several letters to your accomplice, Eustace Chapuys, as well as your daughter Mary Fitzroy, where you refer to yourself as the Queen of England. We also have evidence that you have told your daughter that she is a legitimate daughter of King Henry, and that your false marriage to him was legal and valid according to the Pope, all of which constitute high treason. As I'm sure you're well aware of, the word of the Pope is not valid in England, as His Majesty is the one and only Supreme Head of the Church." He turned to Cromwell, who was writing down everything that they had been saying, and mumbles something to him that Catherine had not been able to hear. "Furthermore, we have letters written to you from Chapuys and Mary Fitzroy where they both refer to you as Queen, and use the title 'Lady Anne' or 'the Concubine' for Her Majesty, among other terrible things. Yet you claim that you have not sent or received letters?"

It took all of Catherine's energy not to gasp in shock. How had they discovered her letters to Chapuys and Mary? They must have gone through her possessions at the More after her arrest, as well as the possessions of Mary and Chapuys. She opened her mouth to say something, although Sir Francis did not give her the chance to speak before he continued. "With these, as well as the testimony of Mary Fitzroy, in which she repeatedly called herself a Princess and a Tudor, we have enough evidence to charge you and all of your accomplices in England with high treason, for which there is only one punishment– death." He said bluntly, smirking at the look of horror that emerged on Catherine's face. "And His Majesty is prepared to follow through with it, even if it means executing his bastard daughter; as I am sure you can imagine. The near-death of the Queen and their children have left him heartbroken, and he is prepared to bring all of those responsible for the acts to justice."

"I would never betray His Majesty," Catherine swore, clutching the cross around her neck tightly as she spoke. "I love the King, and I would do anything to please him." She declared solemnly, looking up at the two men before her with misty eyes. "I would never plot murder against an innocent child, nor would I ever attempt to murder.. an innocent woman," She finished, finding a compromise so that she would not have to address Anne Boleyn as Queen. Calling her an innocent woman was a false statement in itself, but it was still better than calling her rival Queen.

Sir Francis Bryan and Cromwell looked at each other and whispered things for a few moments, before Sir Francis turned back to her. "The King thought that you might say that," He sneered, grabbing a piece of parchment from Cromwell and shoving it towards her. "Therefore, you shall have to prove your loyalty to him. The King commands that you sign the Oath of Supremacy, which states that the King's children by Queen Anne are legitimate and that the King is the Supreme Head of the Church of England. If you sign it, you shall be cleared of all of the charges against you, and be treated as befitting your rank as Dowager Princess. You will be welcomed back to court as the King's Beloved Sister, and will be set above all other women at court, save Queen Anne and her daughters, the Princesses Elizabeth and Eleanor."

Catherine stared at the Oath as Sir Francis placed it into her hands, reading over each word carefully. The document made her stomach churn. How could she betray herself and her daughter by giving up her claim as the true Queen? How would she betray her cousin, who had fought so hard for her rights, and the Pope, who had been so kindly as to personally send her a copy of the Papal Bull which declared her marriage to Henry valid? "Alas, I cannot do that," Catherine said silently, looking at the indignant looks on the faces of both Sir Francis and Cromwell.

"Your Highness, I beg of you to see reason," Cromwell spoke carefully. "If you do not sign the document, you _will_ be put to death, and because Mary Fitzroy will likely not sign the Oath unless you do, so will she. At this point, the evidence against you two in the assassination plot is not much, but there is enough evidence that the two of you have denied Queen Anne her rights to convict you both of high treason."

"And, given the King's outrage at the crimes against Queen Anne and the quadruplets, I doubt that His Majesty will be so kind as to grant you the merciful death of a beheading. No, instead, he might be prepared to have you burnt at the stake as a traitor and a participant in incest, and your daughter hanged as an accomplice to murder," Sir Francis chimed in.

Now Catherine did gasp. Was Henry truly prepared to see her and Mary die? At first, she was indignant to Sir Francis's declaration, refusing to believe that her husband, who had once been her Sir Loyal Heart, would ever put her or their precious daughter to death... before she thought about everything that happened up to now. Because Catherine did not have a healthy son, Henry had cast her aside for Anne Boleyn, the daughter of a knight whose only claim to the nobility was through his mother's side, as well as the fact that Henry was infatuated with his daughter. He had broken from Rome because two Popes had been unwilling to grant him the annulment that he spent years waiting for, and he had taken everything away from her daughter just for defending her and her rights as true Queen! There were no limits to what Henry would be prepared to do to get his way, even if it meant putting her and Mary to death, and Catherine was sure of that.

After being silent for a few minutes, she bowed her head in remorse. "Okay," She mumbled. "I will sign it."

If signing the Oath was the only way to keep Mary safe, then she would do it– even if it meant risking the damnation of her own soul.

No less could she do for her daughter.

* * *

 _July 1st, 1534_

 _The Tower of London_

Sir Francis Bryan strided back into the room of Mary Fitzroy with a triumphant smirk on his face, his joy at the process of events overwhelming. Behind him was Thomas Cromwell, who, although not showing his happiness as Sir Francis was, felt every bit of triumphant as the other man with him. At long last, Catherine of Aragon had signed the Oath, freeing herself from submission to Rome and giving up her false claim to the title as Queen. Of course, he knew that in her heart, she still believed herself to be the Queen, but that was little compared to the fortune that would surely follow her public acknowledgement that her marriage to King Henry was null and void.

Mary looked surprised as the two men entered her room, standing up defensively once she saw the look on Sir Francis's face. "What?" She asked crossly, her resentment plain on her face at the men before her.

"Mary Fitzroy, I have come to tell you that your mother, the Dowager Princess of Wales, has signed the Oath of Succession, recognizing her marriage to your father, King Henry, as incestuous and unlawful, and also acknowledging the King as the Supreme Head of the Church of England." Sir Francis Bryan announced smugly. "As you are now eighteen years old and therefore an adult, His Majesty also asks that you sign the Oath in your own right, acknowledging yourself as illegitimate and renouncing Rome. If you do, it will surely be presented as a sign of your loyalty to King Henry and Queen Anne, and you shall be cleared of all of the charges against you."

Mary's look of disgust quickly turned into one of shock as she processed the words of Sir Francis. Her mother, her good, saintly mother, had signed the Oath that her father made and declared their marriage to be unlawful. Her own mother had basically signed away her claim to the throne! Even worse, her mother recognized her father as Head of the Church, turning her back on God and Pope Paul. How could she do such a thing? How could she have given up so easily after fighting for so long?

No doubt it was the fault of Anne Boleyn. Ever since she came back to England, Mary's life had been filled with pain and misery. Even now, the near-assassination attempt on the life of the Concubine had put Mary in a most appalling position! While she loved her half-siblings to death and would never wish harm on them, Mary was almost disappointed to find out that Anne Boleyn survived her poisoning. When Mary had learned that her cousin, the Emperor, had been named as one of the accomplices of the plot against the Concubine, as well as Chapuys and the Pope, she was astounded that her father did not see reason and decide to cast away the witch. Surely if the Pope himself agreed that the Concubine's death was God's will, then it should be so! But, then again, her father was not the man that he used to be, all thanks to the Boleyn slut.

"As much as I love my father, the King," Mary began, her words already drawing a frown from Sir Francis and Cromwell. "I cannot risk my immortal soul for an earthly king."

Sir Francis rolled his eyes. Of course, only a kinsman of Anne Boleyn would be so rude. "I don't think that you understand, Miss Fitzroy. If you do not sign the Oath, your father may yet proceed with the charges of treason against you." He said coldly, his eyes completely devoid of sympathy. "He would see you put to death as a traitor, along with that madman Brereton and the Imperial Ambassador."

Mary shook her head. "My father would never put me to death," She said defiantly, glaring at the man who dared to speak to her in such a manner. "And surely, he would never approve of my signing such a document if he knew that it was against my conscience. You might have been able to bully my mother into signing it, but you will not bully _me_."

Sir Francis tutted as he grabbed a document from Cromwell, walking over to her and setting it into her hands. "This, Mary Fitzroy, is a letter in the King's own hand, in which he gives his support to your execution if you do not submit yourself to himself and Queen Anne. He knew that you would not bend to his will as easily as your arrogant mother would, given your treasonous nature while you were serving the Princes and Princesses at Hatfield, so he decided that he would dictate this to you to show how serious he is."

Mary stared at the letter, her hands trembling as her eyes scanned each word. She tried to convince herself that her father would never write such a thing, and that Anne Boleyn had forced him to or forged the letter herself, but there was no denying that the letter was in her father's handwriting and his own distinct way of wording things. Now, her entire body was trembling. Her father, the man who had once been her mother's Sir Loyal Heart, and the man who had called her the pearl of his world, had given his support to her execution if she did not recognize a heretic as Queen and her bastard half-siblings as legitimate! The realization that her father would sooner put her to death than accept her back into his life as a Princess was heartbreaking, and it brought her to tears.

"This is your only hope to be restored to your father's side," Cromwell said bluntly, his face showing no empathy at the tears that began forming in Mary's eyes. While he did feel a bit bad for the girl, he did not forget that she thought he was a messenger of the Devil, nor did he forget that she was a fanatical Catholic, perhaps even more so than Bishop Fisher and those sheep in Rome. "Do not throw it away, Miss Fitzroy."

"Princess Mary," She corrected him as the tears flowed down her face freely, holding her head up in defiance.

"For God's sake, woman, you're never going to be a Princess again, much less the Queen of England!" Sir Francis yelled, resisting the urge to shake the girl in front of him like a rag doll. "By God, if you were _my_ daughter, I would-"

"Now, now, Sir Francis," Cromwell cut in cooly. "Miss Fitzroy has made her decision. If she wishes to die in vain, we cannot persuade her. But, I hope that you know that you shall not be able to become Queen of England if you are dead." He turned to Mary, his eyes blank and a frown settling on his face. "I must go inform the King of this. I shall pray for your soul, Mary." He declared, before he turned away and began to leave the room. Judging by the footsteps that followed him, he knew that Sir Francis was following him, and as soon as he rejoined his side, he mumbled in a voice that was so low Mary could not hope to hear. "She shall agree to sign the Oath by the time the jailor comes."

Sir Francis's mouth gaped in surprise at the man beside him, but the look of surprise slowly twisted into a grin. "You're a bloody genius," He muttered, before raising his voice. "JAILOR!" He shouted, rolling his eyes as Cromwell jumped back from the shock of the sudden scream. And, just as Cromwell predicted, the jailor came almost as soon as Mary whispered a quiet _wait_ to them.

Sir Francis and Cromwell turned around around to face the girl. "Yes, Miss Fitzroy?" Cromwell asked, his face still free of any emotion.

"I will sign the Oath," Mary mumbled, her voice shaking as the sobs overcome her. "Please tell my father, the King, that I am his most humble and obedient servant."

The world around Mary faded as she took a quill in her hand, dipping it into the inkwell on the table and scrabbling _Mary Fitzroy_ onto the document, before folding it and handing it off to Cromwell. "As long as I live, I shall never forgive myself," She said, her voice low and her head hung in defeat.

She had betrayed everyone. Her mother, Chapuys, the Emperor, the Pope. But most importantly, she had betrayed herself. Now what was she going to do?

* * *

 _July 1st, 1534_

 _Greenwich Palace_

"They both signed the Oath?" Henry asked, staring up at Thomas Cromwell in surprise as he looked at the documents in front of him. He could not believe his ears when the Earl of Essex announced that Catherine of Aragon had signed the Oath at last, and he felt as if he would fall out of his seat once he discovered that his daughter, Mary Fitzroy, had signed the Oath as well. He was relieved, of course, but he could not admit that he was shocked as well. After asking for more than a year for his sister-in-law and daughter to submit themselves to his will, they finally had. And now, he did not know what to do.

He had evidence that Mary and Catherine had both refused to accept Anne as Queen, even after the birth of their precious children. And, more importantly, the traitor and fanatic William Brereton had implicated them in the assassination plot against Anne, their unborn child, and the quadruplets, though he was reluctant to accept the validity of the man's claims once it came to his attention that there was no substantial evidence to support Catherine and Mary being involved, while there was plenty of evidence to support the involvement of Chapuys, the Emperor, and the Pope. But they had finally submitted themselves to him, a sign that despite being misguided at first, they were no traitors, and would now happily accept Anne as his one true wife and Queen.

Still, he could not be so trustworthy. He would need a plan.

"When they are ready, I wish to invite the Dowager Princess and my daughter, Mary Fitzroy, to court. I wish for them to be properly reunited with our family, as do I wish for them to publicly accept my beloved wife, Anne, as the Queen of England." He declared, rubbing the ring on his long finger with his thumb. "In time, when she proves that she can be trusted again, Mary Fitzroy may also be granted the title of Countess of Lincoln, which previously belonged to my nephew, the late Henry Brandon. For now, however, she will be returned to her courtesy title of Lady– Lady Mary Fitzroy."

He would grant her a duchy when she could be trusted, as he had to Henry Fitzroy, but he was still not entirely sure if he could ever fully trust Catherine and Mary again, after all of this– and, anyways, a bastard daughter was not as important as a bastard son and legitimate daughters. Not to mention that by making her a duchess, she might try and claim the throne after he's dead, due to having one of the highest peerages in the land. Perhaps, if she was able to prove herself for years to follow, he would raise her as a duchess after Elizabeth and Eleanor were married and had families of their own. Or, perhaps, he could put in his will that he wished for Edward to make Mary into a duchess. Either way, the solution was a good one.

"As Your Majesty commands," Cromwell nodded and bowed respectfully. "And what is to be done about the Imperial Ambassador and the traitor, William Brereton? They have been imprisoned in the Tower for over a month now."

Cromwell wanted to shudder at the thought. He could never imagine being in the Tower for so long, much less in the awful quarters that Chapuys was lodged in; Brereton, on the other hand, had no lodgings, and was condemned to various torture machines day and night on the King's command. It was a miracle that the man was still alive after all that he had gone through. In Cromwell's mind, no one deserved such a fate, even if it was a madman that attempted to kill the Queen.

Henry growled slightly at the mention of the two men who had dared to plot against his wife and children. "What was the outcome of Chapuys's trial?"

"Guilty." Cromwell explained. Brereton had not been given the mercy of a trial– he had been sentenced to death via act of attainder, despite being a madman. As he was no longer a gentleman, he would either be hanged, drawn, and quartered, the death of a commoner, or boiled alive as a poisoner.

The King's glare went away as he heard the outcome. "Good. Brereton is to be boiled alive, as he attempted to poison Queen Anne and our unborn child. Chapuys, however.."

Cromwell swallowed the lump in his throat as Henry trailed off. While he had been keen for an Imperial alliance before, there was to be no hope for it now that it was discovered that Chapuys conspired with Brereton to murder Queen Anne, and that the Emperor encouraged him. "I advise Your Majesty to be careful with what you decide to do with Chapuys. He might be a traitor and an attempted murderer, but he is still a foreign agent, and his execution might spark ire in the Emperor."

"Good," Henry snapped. "I _hope_ to make that coward angry. He supported the attempted assassination of my beloved wife, while pretending otherwise in public!" His voice raised slightly. "I plan to raise a new alliance with King Francis, as well as the Protestant League, so that we all might unite against this Emperor and end his tyranny once and for all. As soon as I hear back from the representatives that I have sent to Cleves and Bavaria, you shall draft a formal declaration of war."

Cromwell nodded, his spirits slightly lifted as the King voiced that he would plan to align himself with the Protestant League. While it was not as promising as an Imperial Alliance might have been, perhaps it would help persuade the King's heart more towards the _true_ faith, and away from the superstition of popery. "I more than wholeheartedly agree with you, Your Majesty."

Henry mused over for a second, rubbing his thumb on the ring again, before he looked up. "Chapuys is to be executed– as he was found guilty of high treason. I want him publicly hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn, and after the deed is done, he shall be beheaded, with his head placed upon London Bridge. I shall show the kingdom, as well as the rulers of Europe, what will happen to _any_ man that dares to plot against me or my family, no matter how great they might have been before." He spoke sternly and cooly, making it clear that he would accept no argument against his wishes. "Examples must be made of traitors and fanatics."

As Cromwell nodded again, Henry smiled. "I think I shall go and visit the Queen." He said suddenly, his heart soaring as he thought of Anne and their kids. In the aftermath of the assassination attempt, Anne had recovered remarkably from Brereton's poison, as had Edmund from the force of the man's hands, although Edmund's recovery had taken far much longer than Anne's had. To soothe his wife, he had declared that the children were to stay at court until after their next child was born, after which the new child will join the household at Hatfield. Truthfully, he was glad that the children would stay longer, although he was still very paranoid about the ordeal that transpired to the point that most nights since then, Anne had to persuade him into leaving her apartments so that he could get rest.

"I am sure that the Queen will be more than grateful for the company," Cromwell noted.

Henry chuckled. "I am sure of it as well, Your Grace," He said, standing up and departing from the room. He made his way to the Queen's apartments as fast as he could, smiling at his wife and their children as her ladies all curtsied to him. "My Queen," He said to Anne.

"Your Majesty," Anne smiled back at him. "How gracious of you to join us." She put a hand on her stomach and rubbed it gently, trying to hide the fact that her lip quivered as she did so. Ever since the assassination attempts, Anne had been on edge, not only about herself, but about their children. Thankfully, Henry agreed to keep them here until after the birth of their next child. At the moment, they were all playing on the floor with each other, within arms reach of Anne, should anything happen.

"I have excellent news, sweetheart," Henry announced. "The Dowager Princess and my daughter have signed the Oath, finally."

"Catherine and Mary?" Anne did not know what to think about it.

When she learned of Catherine and Mary's being implicated in the assassination attempts against her, she knew that there was no way the allegations about them were true– or, at least those about Catherine. While she knew that her rival thought of her as the scandal of Christendom and herself as the true Queen, Catherine of Aragon would never harm an innocent child, no would she attempt to murder a pregnant woman. Mary, on the other hand, vehemently hated her, and she would not put it past her to wish her dead, but Mary was also a fierce Catholic and, as far as she knew, loved her half-siblings too much to try anything against them.

She also knew that they would never truly acknowledge her as Queen, nor would they ever renounce Catholicism. How could Henry believe that they would truly yield so quickly after refusing to submit for so long?

"In time, when she can be trusted, I will grant Mary Fitzroy the noble title of Countess of Lincoln. But for now, I've decided that she will remain without any title save that of the courtesy title Lady, and I shall settle Hunsdon House upon her for her use. Catherine will be allowed Kimbolton Castle as her residence." Henry continued.

Anne nodded and rubbed her stomach before being handed Edmund by Madge. Since the assassination attempts, she had been terrified of letting Edmund out of her sight especially, as Brereton had almost succeeded in killing him before George stopped him. There was no doubt in Anne's mind that he had meant to strangle Edward, but it was still terrifying to know that someone would be willing to hurt her children because they didn't like her.

"What will happen to.." She trailed off instead of finishing the sentence, hoping that Henry will get who she meant.

"Don't worry about them, sweetheart," Henry reassured her, a smile on his face. "Everything will be taken care of soon. For now, we should focus on your health– and that of our children." As Anne nodded again and smiled, Henry looked down at Edmund, who cooed at him. "How is our son?" He questioned, a hint of concern in his voice. Like Anne, Henry had been exceptionally worried for Edmund's sake, as Brereton attempted to strangle him after mistaking him for little Edward.

"Strong," Anne replied.

Henry chuckled. "Much like this mother, I'm sure."

Anne giggled slightly at this. "And our next son." She stated, rubbing her stomach and smiling again as Henry leaned over to give her a kiss. "I'm absolutely _dreading_ going into my confinement soon." She admitted once Henry pulled away, readjusting Edmund so that he was more comfortable.

"Really?" Henry asked in curiousity, sitting near the edge of the bed near Anne. "Why so?"

"It's so boring!" Anne exclaimed and fell into a fit of laughter, which Edmund and little Elizabeth had gladly joined in on. "And, I won't be by your side everyday." She reached one of her hands over and squeezed Henry's hand, before she pulled Edmund closer to her and kissed his forehead.

"I promise to visit you everyday," Henry vowed, his voice switching between fake seriousness and a chivalrous tone. "No less could I do for my Queen."

The two laughed together, and for a moment, it felt as if nothing else in the world existed except for them and their children. Finally, Anne looked up at Henry, sincerity in her tone as she spoke. "Do you think that this will be a new start for us, Henry?"

Henry leaned over and kissed Anne again, chuckling softly as he saw the gleam of her dark eyes once he pulled away. "I hope so, my love. I hope so."

* * *

 _July 27th, 1534_

 _Greenwich Palace_

The last time that she had been to Court, she was a beloved Queen being wrongfully exiled so that her husband could live with his Concubine. Now, she was returning to Court as the Princess Dowager of Wales, the widow of a man over thirty years dead, and a woman who was, until recently, suspected to be a traitor and an accomplice to murder.

She was not returning to a Court that would welcome her warmly– no, she was returning to a Boleyn Court, run by the family of a woman who all but despised her. And, while she knew that Anne Boleyn was not solely to blame for the actions of her husband, there was no denying that Anne Boleyn would probably be happy to see her submit to her husband publicly, finally giving up her claim to the title of Queen and accepting defeat. Luckily, she would not be subjected to such humiliation, as she knew that Anne Boleyn had recently went into her confinement, awaiting the birth of her and her husband's next child with eager.

At least Henry had waited a few weeks before summoning her, as opposed to inviting her to Court as soon as she exited the Tower.

Catherine could not stop the butterflies from forming in her stomach as she walked into the grand hall of the Court, holding her head high as all of the courtiers stopped to stare at her. The gossip of the courtiers meant little to her as she was led by Henry's groom into the throne room, however, although she did have to stop herself from listening to some of the things that the people were saying about her.

"Poor lady," One woman whispered. "All of those pregnancies and no sons, while Queen Anne birthed two sons and two daughters in a single pregnancy!"

"I don't feel bad for her," Another woman whispered in a blunt tone. "God has shown who He sides with, and it wasn't her. There was no need for her to make it harder on herself."

Those words had hurt the most, but Catherine quickly moved them to the back of her mind as she reached the throne room, and, for the first time in years, she saw the two people in life who meant more to her than anything: Mary and Henry.

"Oh, my Mary," She could hardly contain herself as Mary rushed over to give her a hug, tears quickly beginning to flow down her cheek as she held her beloved daughter close for what felt like centuries. "Oh, how I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, my Lady Mother," Mary held her close to her as well, her voice serious as she pulled away from the hug and wiped her own tears away. Catherine smiled at her daughter, her beautiful daughter, before turning to Henry, who seemed emotionless at the scene.

"Catherine." He said sternly. "It has come to my attention that you wish to submit yourself to my will. Our daughter, the Lady Mary Fitzroy, has already done so, and now it is my wish that you do the same."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Catherine curtseyed, then began to speak the script that she had rehearsed in her head a million times before she arrived. "I am the Dowager Princess of Wales, the widow of your brother Arthur, Prince of Wales. As such, I was mever truly your wife, and our union was unlawful; as such, your marriage to Queen Anne, formerly Anne Boleyn, is valid and lawful."

"And?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "Do you accept me as the Supreme Head of the Church of England?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Catherine repeated.

"Good." Henry smiled, satisfied with her response. "I hope that you will forgive my wife, Queen Anne, for not being here– she entered her confinement recently, and her labor unexpectedly began a few hours ago."

"I pray that Her Majesty will have a quick birth, Your Majesty," Catherine declared, to which Mary smiled calmly.

Silence settled into the chamber, before Henry gave another curt smile and crossed his arms some. "Are you aware that the Bishop of Rome issued another Papal Bull, Catherine?" He questioned. "In it, he declares that he made a mistake in the judgement that he made on my Great Matter, and that he, too, agrees that our union was invalid– although we already knew this, of course, and the rulings of the Bishop of Rome have no weight in this country."

It took every ounce of willpower that Catherine had not to gasp. Pope Paul himself had made another ruling against her marriage to Henry? No doubt it was because he was trying to save face in the wake of his involvement in the attempt on Anne Boleyn's life. But she didn't understand: the Pope was God's representative on Earth. How _could_ he?

"I agree, Your Majesty," Catherine said, although her statement was interrupted by Thomas Boleyn, the Earl of Wiltshire, practically bursting into the throne room.

"Another son, Your Majesty!" Wiltshire exclaimed enthusiastically. "Her Majesty has delivered another healthy son!"

Mary let out an involuntary gasp at Wiltshire's statement, watching in disbelief and rage as the man began to explain how that Boleyn woman had birthed another bastard that was taking her rightful place in the succession. She mumbled something out– she didn't even know what she had said, as she was too lost in her own thoughts, but judging by the fact that her father and the Earl of Wiltshire did not reprimand her for it, she guessed that it was something along the lines of a congratulations. She looked up at her mother who, despite her stony, emotionless face, looked absolutely heartbroken in her eyes, something that filled Mary with despair and anger towards Anne Boleyn.

As her father exited the room along with Wiltshire, eager to get to his so-called wife and his new son, Mary could not help but laugh bitterly. Her father, the man who she had praised for so long, abandoned them there to go visit his Concubine, despite the fact that it was the first time he had seen either of them in years. He chose to go to his Concubine and his false family rather than stay with his true wife and his true, devoted daughter.

He chose living in sin with Anne Boleyn over a good, pious life with her and her mother.

He chose them, and Mary knew that he would always choose them.

Forever.

* * *

And, there you have it. I'm sorry if this chapter seemed rushed, or if the ending was shitty, but I promise you that the story will pick up more from here. In the next chapter, there will be a small timeskip to a few months later, and it'll introduce a few of the new conflicts in the story.. Jane Seymour, anyone? ;)

Now for another poll: **What fate do you all want Jane Seymour and her family to have?** I have their plotlines done, but their fate remains an open question. Thank you so much for all of your help, in advance!

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

-Nan 👸


End file.
